Adam Wakes Up
by foreverHenry919
Summary: Adam wakes up from his waking coma but in the persona of Dr. Lewis Farber. Amnesia or an act? At any rate, he names Henry as his attacker. With the evidence seemingly stacked against him in the form of the syringe recovered from the abandoned subway platform, how will Henry explain everything?
1. Adams Wakes Up Ch 1

The scenario felt oddly familiar to Dr. Henry Morgan, ME, as it should have; for he had sat at this table in the 11th Precinct's Interview Room like this before. He on one side, Det. Jo Martinez on the other, legal-sized notepad and pencil at the ready, throwing questions at him. She even appeared to have a small item in a plastic evidence bag, just as she had had his blood-smeared pocket watch in, during that first grilling.

Back in the Fall of 2014, he'd been taken into custody by her, suspected of having caused the deadly subway crash in which the conductor, he, and 14 other passengers had perished. Of course, since he was an Immortal, he'd died and come back to life in the East River naked like so many times before. Therefore, the newspapers and the authorities never knew that he should have been numbered with the dead. Back then, no one knew of his secret except Abe, his elderly son, and a mysterious caller who would later reveal himself to also be an Immortal but much older. And quite insane.

Back then, he was confident that the toxicology reports would exonerate him, but the need to quickly identify both the poison and the perpetrator had spurred him into action. He'd involuntarily emerged from the shadows of his necessarily secretive existence and joined the beautiful, female detective as her unofficial crime-solving partner. After the case was solved, he'd remained in that unofficial capacity, dividing his time between the autopsy table and her side in crime-scene investigations. Together, usually with her official partner, Det. Mike Hanson, they had solved numerous murders that probably would have been ruled to be accidental or from natural causes. Worse yet, they probably would have eventually had whatever evidence associated with them, boxed up and shelved alongside the disturbingly high pile of other cold cases.

How could he have known back then that despite the sense of satisfaction gained from helping the NYPD solve murders, that he would also gain a stalker? The most menacing kind: one who couldn't permanently die, like himself. It was for exactly that reason he'd never sought help from the NYPD - not even from Jo - in a desperate attempt to keep his own secret hidden.

Henry looked down at his hands, clasped together in front of him on the table. Just as he'd done before but this time with a much lowered confidence level. He couldn't help but notice that he was dressed almost exactly as he had been during that September interrogation, too. Back then, he had been innocent but this time ...

Outwardly, he appeared relaxed and calm he watched Jo lean forward in her chair and call him by his title again in order to get a response from him. His eyes darted over to the two-way mirror, knowing that Lt. Reece and Det. Hanson were most likely watching from the other side, then back down to his hands. He winced at the look of controlled pain in Jo's expression as she struggled to maintain a professional demeanor. For they had forged out a friendship over the past several months that was slowly growing and deepening. The thought of never again sharing relaxed conversation with her over drinks or meals sent a pang of pending loss through him.

But he'd been lying to her for so long. Causing her pain like this was ... unforgivable. Her friendship and trust - what were left of them - were greatly valued. If Abe had kept him grounded in the present, Jo had kept him anchored to his life and work in New York City. What would she think of him now that he was facing possible criminal assault charges against a blasted individual who, in his opinion, didn't deserve to live, anyway.

Henry swallowed in an unsuccessful effort to un-dry his throat, and just as he opened his mouth to attempt some type of response, the conference room door opened. His mouth opened wider and his eyebrows shot up as he watched Abe being ushered past by a uniformed patrolman. Both men's eyes met for an instance before Abe moved out of his line of vision past the doorway. Another patrolman leaned into the room and informed Jo in a very routine way that the "other suspect" had arrived and was being placed in the Interview Room next door to them.

"Thank you, Officer," Jo said, her eyes moving from the patrolman as he tipped his hat and closed the door, and back to Henry, whose face now displayed what she recognized as anger. His hands now balled into fists. She also saw something else: hurt and betrayal. Well, she reasoned, as much as he'd skirted the truth with her ever since they'd first met, if anyone should be hurt and feel betrayed, it should be her. But setting her mind back on getting answers out of the ever evasive ME, the detective in her took over again.

Jo regretted that he was angry but he had no way of knowing that the patrolman opening the door at that precise moment to allow Henry to see Abe also in custody and referred to as the "other suspect" was all a ruse. An effort to get him to talk to her, knowing how protective he was of his elderly roommate. She hated using that tactic but it had usually worked when confronted with an uncooperative suspect or witness. All the ones who were worth their salt, eventually spilled the beans when they realized that their failure to be forthcoming threatened to involve an innocent person. An innocent person who mattered a lot to them.

"Alright, Dr. Morgan," Jo said. "Your refusal to answer any of my questions means that you are asserting your right to remain silent?" Really? she thought. He's not going to let Abe get caught up in this criminal assault case.

"I'm going to ask you again, Doctor," she began, enunciating each word slowly and clearly.

Henry shook his head and replied, "No, no, Detective, I was merely gathering my thoughts since it was so many months ago." She saw right through his attempt to stall for time but said nothing and waited for him to continue.

He attempted a smile that looked more like a flinch. Then, with a look of weary resignation that strengthened into resolve, he locked gazes with her, well aware that his co-workers must be standing expectantly behind the mirror. He made a conscious effort to hold his head up, chin out, and square his shoulders.

"Yes, Detective," he began. "I have visited ... Dr. Farber several times in his hospital room." He hoped that his hesitancy to call Adam by his public false name went unnoticed. His anger flared, however, at the thought of his innocent son in custody. "But why drag my, my roommate in here for something that - "

"For something that you did?" she finished for him. "And I ask the questions, Doctor," she firmly reminded him. Inwardly, she recoiled at the sharp tone she used with him. The Lieutenant, however, had rejected her request not to be the one to question him.

 _"Lieu, it's Henry,_ _our_ _Henry. I can't trust myself to go by the books with him," she'd sadly confessed. "I'm the wrong person to question him."_

 _"That's where you're wrong, Martinez," Reece had quietly corrected her. "You are the right person to question him. He cares for you. A lot." She'd leaned back a bit, studying her. "And I believe the feeling is mutual." She'd smiled a bit while Jo had done her best to hide her embarrassment. "If to no one else, he'll open up to you. Let's just get some answers that make sense."_

"Did what?" he snapped at her, jarring her back to the present.

The detective sighed and opened the file folder in front of her and pulled out two documents. Turning them upside down, she pushed them across the table to him.

"These. Two separate statements from an orderlie and a nurse, both of whom attended Dr. Farber at Bellevue. They claim that Farber, upon emerging from his waking coma, told his doctor and them that you had attacked him, causing his locked-in condition." Her tone was as no-nonsense sounding as always. The tone she always used when questioning an uncooperative suspect. This was Henry, though. Deep down she clung to the hope that all this wasn't true. Henry couldn't wilfully harm anyone, she told herself. He'd only killed his stalker, serial killer Clarke Walker, in self-defense.

"These only say that he mumbled something to that effect once he'd regained consciousness. And not full consciousness, mind you," Henry replied dismissively after skimming over them. "According to their statements, Farber admits to having some memory loss, which would not be unusual for a patient such as he in the early stages of recovery." He pushed the statements back across the table to her. "Anything he says at this point should be taken with a double grain of salt. Or dismissed altogether."

Despite the wave of anger coursing through him, a wave of fear - fear of discovery - rolled underneath it. What if Adam's path to full recovery also meant that he would inadvertently reveal the truth about how they knew each other and their conditions? Hadn't the syringe he'd used to inject air into Adam's brainstem vanished along with his body when he'd died after Adam had shot him in the chest with the old flintlock pistol? He wasn't so sure now. He'd seen Adam yank it out of his neck and toss it carelessly away to his right. Oh, no.

"Farber claims that you injected him with any empty syringe. His doctor says that's what caused the embolism, the air bubble that led to his present condition."

 _'No matter that he had shot me right before that,'_ he grumbled to himself. He watched Jo as she placed the statements back into the folder and closed it, then held up the plastic evidence bag with an empty syringe in it.

"This was found lying on the filthy, concrete platform in an abandoned portion of the subway system." She leaned forward a bit more and continued. "I followed you there that day," she informed him. "Two shots rang out that helped lead me to where you had been." She placed the evidence bag down on the table between them. "Farber made it up to the active platform where he collapsed and someone called 911," she told him. "I have no idea how you managed to get past me so quickly, though."

Ignoring that last statement, he managed to remain calm but inwardly despaired at seeing the syringe. Was it really the same one that he'd used to attack Adam with when they had had their confrontation? He was familiar with Jo's and Mike's tactics of making suppositions that eventually broke a suspect down.

She tapped her index finger near the bagged syringe and asked, "Look familiar?" She studied him to see if his resolve was melting away. When confronted with incontrovertable evidence, a perp usually deflated and fessed up.

"A common syringe," he replied, his features remaining calm and his shoulders squared. "I'm sure there are quite a few more where that one was found. What with drug addicts frequenting that part of the subway system." He was more than hinting at it being a ploy and not the actual one he'd used against Adam.

"Except this one has your fingerprints, as well as Farber's, all over it," she told him. He listened calmly as she explained how his prints showed that he'd gripped it in a stabbing motion and depressed the plunger with his thumb. He lowered his head and tilted it to the side as she explained how the crime-scene reenactment team had also concluded that Farber's prints evidenced a gripping and pulling motion.

"Apparently, you didn't just inject him, you stabbed him in his brainstem first, then injected him with air," she stated. She suddenly stopped herself, overcome with dismay at her own last statement. This was Henry! How she wished that she could just jump up and run out of there. End this farce. End the heartache she was enduring. Personally, she didn't want to know if he was responsible for Farber's unfortunate condition. She felt strongly the need to protect him because, knowing Henry, if he did attack Farber, it was only as a last resort. But her detective's mind needed to know the truth. If, for no other reason than to clear him and Abe of these vicious charges. The Lieutenant's words haunted her now.

 _"If to no one else, he'll open up to you.'_

"How do you explain your prints and his on the very instrument that was used to attack him?" she asked after taking in a deep breath. He remained silent but his brow furrowed slightly and his eyes lowered to his hands.

"Fine," she said. "If that's the way you want to play it, we'll just have to see what kind of answers we get out of your roommate." Not referring to Abe by his name was harder than she thought it would be. She truly cared for him and valued his friendship. But she couldn't let her personal feelings interfere with doing her job. Gathering up the evidence bag and the folder, she stood up and started for the door. While doing so, she rattled off the handful of possible charges he was racking up against himself if he didn't 'come clean'.

"And don't forget Abe," she reminded him, her hand on the doorknob. "I can't believe that you're willing to take him down with you." When he still didn't respond, she tugged the door open, intending to leave the room.

"Wait!" he bid her loudly. "Please," he begged in a quieter but shaky voice. She closed the door and turned to look at him but continued to stand.

"You're right," he said, obviously struggling with his words. "Please release him." He looked imploringly up at Jo. "Abe had nothing to do with this."

Jo walked slowly back to her chair and sat down. "Is this a confession?" she whisperingly asked.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them, avoiding her stare. "I'll ... make ... a full confession," he breathed out, laboring on virtually every word. He managed to lift up his face, pinched with fear and foreboding. "You won't believe me, though," he warned her, his voice cracking. She pushed the notepad and pencil over to him.

"Just write everything down," she gently but firmly urged him.

He pursed his lips, dipped his head and grabbed the pencil and pulled the notepad closer to him. After a momentary hesitation, he virtually attacked the paper with the pencil, determined to fulfill his part of the bargain as long as his son would be released unharmed. The words poured out of him, filling three pages. Engrossed in writing out his confession, he failed to notice that Jo had left the room to join Reece and Hanson on the other side of the two-way mirror.

vvvv

Reece and Hanson watched Jo leave the Interview Room and a few moments later, join them in the viewing room. No words were exchanged as she entered and walked quickly over to the mirror. It was evident to them that she was struggling to keep herself together. It was painful for the two of them to watch their ME write out a confession to criminally assaulting someone. But how much more painful it must be for Jo, they realized. It was a long-running joke in both the 11th Precinct and the OCME about how long she and the ME would continue to deny their feelings for each other and get it on. But there was no humor in seeing how painful this exchange had been for the both of them.

 _'Nothin' to see here but two broken hearts,'_ Hanson mournfully thought to himself. He, like Jo, found it hard to believe that Henry would initiate harm to anyone else. Only in self defense as when he'd killed the man identified as his stalker, Clarke Walker. A 'righteous kill', he'd told Henry then and he still believed it now. One thing was for sure, though: if he really was confessing to having harmed Farber, he had to have had good reason. Simple. He liked simple.

Reece walked up next to Jo and put her hand on her shoulder. "You did what you had to do, Jo." She looked over at Jo, who shook her head slightly, blinking back tears. "And I'm convinced that only you could have gotten us to this point."

"Where are we, Lieu?" she asked in a whisper. "I feel like a traitor. Backing my best friend into a corner so that he could confess to a crime that he may or may not have committed." She turned to Reece and said, "Just because Farber wakes up from a coma and points the finger at Henry doesn't mean that it's true. Like Henry said, and he's a doctor, Farber is probably not altogether right in his mind. He could be hallucinating or have talked in a dream state or - "

"Jo, Jo, that's why it's called an investigation," Reece reminded her. "We don't yet know what Henry's confessing to, or that he's confessing at all. We compare what's in his statement to what Farber claims happened and go from there."

"Yeah, yeah," Hanson joined in, stepping up alongside Jo on her other side. "Farber's got his side of the story and the Doc has his. We'll see which one holds up to the light."

Jo felt so encouraged by what she'd heard them tell her that a smile danced over her lips. But she knew all of this already. Just was hard to stay focused since Henry and Abe were involved. She nodded and bit her lower lip, embarrassed that she'd had to be reminded of how to investigate a case. She suddenly stood a little taller when reminded that she had met and spoken with Farber in his office at Bellevue when they were investigating Henry's stalker. Farber had pointed them to Clarke Walker, a quite disturbed serial killer. But Henry's demeanor whenever Farber's name had been mentioned was oddly similar to whenever his stalker had been mentioned. What was there about Farber that put Henry on edge other than being accused, maybe falsely accused by him? Would his statement shed any light on that or not?

"Yes, you're both right, of course," she finally replied to them. As Henry ended his writing and put the pencil down on top of the notepad, she stepped back from the mirror. "He's finished," she said, walking to the door with renewed purpose. "And we've got work to do."


	2. Adam Wakes Up Ch 2

_"Farber admits to having some memory loss, which would not be unusual for a patient such as he in the early stages of recovery." Henry pushed the statements back across the table to Jo. "Anything he says at this point should be taken with a double grain of salt. Or dismissed altogether."_

vvvv

Dr. Phillip Grainge had just finished checking his patient's vital signs. Sitting on a backless chair with a round, cushioned seat, he made some notations in both the file and into a computer screen. He made the last few taps and turned his attention back to the impatient patient.

"I won't lie to you, Dr. Farber," he began.

"Lewis. Please," Farber interjected with a slight smile.

Dr. Grainge smiled back. "Lewis, then." He drew in a deep breath and the serious but detached professional expression returned to his lined and wrinkled face. "I won't lie to you. It won't be an easy road from here on. Although it's nothing short of a miracle that you've gotten this far - because most people don't - we must be realistic about your chances for a full recovery." He stood up and took a couple of steps closer to his patient, his hands in the pockets of his white hospital smock.

"You do have a few things working in your favor, though," he continued. "You're still young and generally, physically healthy. The outlook for you to make as near a full recovery as possible is promising."

"As near," Lewis quietly repeated the doctor's words. "Well ... that's good news, I suppose," he conceded, thoughts darting through his mind. "What is it you're not telling me, though?" His slight smile flattened out as he looked the balding, white-haired doctor in the eyes. Something in the back of his mind told him that he would never see a similar-looking reflection in the mirror. He frowned and closed his eyes, then blinked them back open.

"Another memory flash, as you call them?" Grainge asked, concerned.

"I, uh, I'm not sure," Lewis replied, rubbing his fingers across his forehead. "Please continue, Dr. Grainge."

"It's exactly this, Lewis. These flashes of memory that point to a mild case of amnesia. Or they may not be actual memories but possibly symptoms of brain trauma."

"Brain trauma," Lewis muttered his words again. The words that troubled him most. He looked Grainge in the eyes again and stated, "I may have permanent brain damage, then."

"Your brain scans are clear but it's what the mind accepts and rejects as reality that sometimes works for or against us," Grainge replied in a nearly philosophical tone.

Lewis frowned and lowered his eyes. "You don't believe me." He looked up at Grainge again. "That I was attacked by the man who had frequently visited me for the past eight months."

"Your former therapy client and a trusted colleague of mine?" Grainge asked, skepticism evident in his nearly-mocking tone. He had no regrets over having recommended dismissal of the orderly and nurse who had been present when Lewis had regained consciousness and named Dr. Henry Morgan as his attacker. In his opinion, they had both over-reacted by contacting the police. And violated the patient's privacy rights. Not to mention causing undue disruption to his respected colleague's life. The orderly's actions did not surprise him but the nurse - he should have known better.

"We simply need more time, Lewis, to determine which of your, uh, memory flashes are true memories rather than ... "

" ... delusions," Lewis finished, nodding and lowering his eyes. He sat taller on the vinyl exam table, bracing himself up with his hands, the protective paper crinkling loudly under him at the slightest movement. "How much more time, Doctor?" he asked with quiet anxiety.

"Another unknown, I'm afraid," Grainge replied. "Just as we had no idea of when or if you'd emerge from your waking coma, we have no idea of how long it will take for your mind to successfully delineate between reality and fantasy." He turned and walked over to the small table that the computer rested on and picked up the medical file. "We'll get you started with physical therapy next week. In the meantime, a psychologist, uh, Dr. Katherine Willoughby," he said, reading from the medical file, "will be in tomorrow afternoon to assess you." The doctor then logged off the computer, shook hands with Lewis, and exited the exam room.

Lewis let the doctor's words sink in and allowed a male nurse to help him back into a wheelchair. But he was thankful for having a robe on, thin as it was, to cover up the drafty gap in the back of his hospital gown. As he was wheeled back to his hospital room, he wondered why a former client of his would have attacked him. The fact that he was a former client of his was news to him, for he could only recall having seen the man identified as Dr. Henry Morgan, a New York City Medical Examiner, visit him periodically over the past eight months. Although certain that the fellow hadn't simply stood at his bedside without speaking about something, Lewis couldn't recall what that might have been.

But suddenly a vision hit him. It appeared to have been during Morgan's very first visit to him. He'd leaned in close and whispered ... something like ... like ... Oh! what was it? Lewis pressed at the foggy memory again and recalled Morgan saying, "Don't worry." Don't worry and ... something more, but what? Lewis released the foggy memory, content to let it rest a bit more in his subconscious, but surprised and encouraged at having recalled even those two meager words.

Hmmm. So, Morgan obviously held friendly regard for him. Don't worry. That's what a concerned individual tells another dealing with a difficult situation such as he was then and certainly is now. His expression clouded over when reminded that he'd accused Morgan of being his attacker. Had the fellow visited him all those months just to make sure that he remained incapacitated and, therefore, no threat to him? If that were so, why would Morgan view him as a threat? The confusion of it all threatened to tire him out again and bring on another throbbing headache.

'Morgan is a former client?' Even though that fell in line with what he'd been told of himself, that he was a Psychotherapist here at Bellevue, for some reason he didn't feel like one. How long had he been one? From which institution had he obtained his degree? Why couldn't he recall the wife and children he was supposed to have? Then, the sudden vision of a dapperly-dressed Morgan seated in a comfortable chair in front of him, sipping tea, loomed before him. It was as if Morgan were in an office - his office? - and conversing with him. If he were a psychotherapist, a husband, and a father, why couldn't he feel those parts of his life?

vvvv

Henry leaned back in his chair in the Interview Room after completing his statement and sighed heavily. For once anyone read it, he would most certainly be looked upon as being either a liar or insane. Concerns about his own fate were secondary to him, though. He only hoped that his son would be released now, as agreed. While he wondered if contemporary straight jackets were as uncomfortable as the ones he'd been forced into back in the 1800's, the door opened and Jo stepped in. He tensed as he watched her close the door and walk over and sit in the chair on the other side of the table again. He tensed more as she placed her hand on the notepad with his written confession three pages deep into it. He placed his hand on top of the notepad to stop her from picking it up.

"Jo ... Detective," he began nervously. "Everything I've written down here is the truth." His troubled eyes beneath a worried brow pleaded with her. "I swear it." When she didn't respond, he removed his hand and she picked the notepad up, turning it around as if she were going to read it. Instead, she lifted up the three pages and tore them off of the pad.

"Your roommate is being released right now," she quietly assured him, her eyes avoiding his intense gaze. If she looked any longer into those troubled brown eyes of his, she was sure that she'd break down. Tearfully. Emotionally.

Henry visibly relaxed and thanked her although it hurt that she refused to look at him and continued to refer to his son, her friend, as his roommate and not by his name. The door to their all-too-brief friendship, he felt, was closing and it hurt.

"We're going to have to hold you, though," Jo told him. He nodded, lowering his eyes. A condemned man resigned to his fate. As a uniformed officer cuffed him and escorted him out of the room, she glanced down at the statement in her hand and read the first line.

Henry got as far as the open doorway when he heard an audible gasp escape from her lips. He looked back at her over his shoulder to see her gawking incredulously at him. Well, if he wondered what anyone's reaction would be after reading his statement, he knew he was about to find out now.

Jo jumped up from her seat and flew to his side, twisting him around to fully face her. Holding up the blue-lined yellow pages in an angry grasp, she shook them in front of him and demanded, "Henry, what's the meaning of this?!"

"The truth, Detective," he quietly replied. "Finally, the truth. But if you'll recall, I warned you that you wouldn't believe me."

Jo stood just inside the doorway watching him being escorted away in handcuffs. The sorrow and shame that had plagued her ever since she'd been tasked with questioning him about Farber's accusations were replaced with anger and confusion. Betrayal, as well, since he'd chosen to lie yet again with this ridiculous so-called confession.

I am Immortal.

First thing he writes and it's one of the most ridiculous claims anyone could ever make! she grumbled to herself. The anger in her made her think of breaking her promise to him about releasing Abe. She released a deep sigh. No, she thought. Release him and - she held up the pages now crumpled in her grasp - talk to him about this craziness that Henry's written down.

vvvv

"Spose I should thank you for giving me a ride back home," Abe told Jo. She pulled her lower lip in slightly at hearing the tinge of resentment in his tone. But remorse came and left her quickly when she reminded herself that Abe was most likely an enabler and had helped Henry permeate his lies to her and others for years. He could give her some answers if Henry remained unwilling to do so.

"You're welcome," she replied.

"Nice to see you again, though," he said with all sincerity, giving her a quick smile. "Just wish it were under more pleasant circumstances."

"Yeah, same here," she replied.

"Did, uh, you get what you wanted?" he asked.

She shot him a confused glance but he stared straight ahead. Turning her eyes back to the road in front of her, she saw him glance at her out of the corner of her eye.

"Out of Henry, that is," he clarified.

Jo stiffened a little but had to laugh to herself about how insightful both men apparently were. Two of a kind, she told herself. "Actually, no," she told him, shaking her head slightly as she pulled in front of the antique shop and parked.

Abe freed himself of his seatbelt but didn't get out of the car. Frowning, he asked, "You mean this little scheme of yours to haul me in and parade me in front of him wasn't enough to shake whatever information you wanted out of him?" He turned his head away from her in an effort to hide his mirth.

Jo rolled her eyes but remained silent while he allowed him a laugh at her expense.

"Look, kiddo, my old m - friend, Henry, is a handful, to say the least." He opened the car door and paused to add, "Good luck in your investigation." He got out of the car chuckling some more. When he turned around to close the car door, his mirth turned into dismay at seeing Jo also get out, frowning at him.

"Funny you should mention the investigation," she began as she closed the car door and walked around to stand in front of him on the sidewalk. "We need to talk, Abe." She sensed his hesitation and added, "I think we both would prefer that we talk here, in private, rather than down at the precinct." He visibly relented, nodding his head, and he let her enter the shop ahead of him.


	3. Adam Wakes Up Ch 3

Abe followed Jo up the stairs from the shop to the second-floor living quarters just as the clock on the mantel chimed 4:30 PM. Normally, Henry would have completed their threesome while they enjoyed one of Abe's delicious meals. She'd always looked forward to his home-cooked meals and both men's company. She missed taking part in their easy banter; seeing Henry's hypnotically-dazzling smile; hearing his infectious, bellowing laughter. It was in those times that he seemed to really relax. And she, too, she had to admit. Her eyes roamed around the room, settling on the empty armchair he usually occupied. She bit on her lower lip, swallowing back tears at the thought of the three of them never sharing those moments again.

Abe cleared his throat and shifted his weight in his chair. "Uh, you said we needed to talk. Instead you plop down on that settee and and blink out on me. Is the silent treatment some sort of new investigative technique?"

"No. Sorry." She shook her head and managed a weak smile that faded once she remembered the pages on her lap. "This, um, this crap that Henry wrote as some kind of confession, he said." She leaned forward in her seat and placed it in Abe's outstretched hand. He leaned back, unfolded it, and his eyes bulged immediately as he began to read. Jo watched him closely as he took in the words on the first page and then folded the pages over again.

"Have you read this?" he asked, looking in her direction, but not directly at her. "All of it?"

"Only that first line."

"You should read all of it before passing judgment," he told her matter-of-factly.

Jo scoffed. "Pass judgment? Abe, nobody is immortal! Henry's just, I don't know, still suffering some kind of trauma from when he killed that guy in his basement laboratory. But," she thought out loud, "it could work as his defense against these charges that he attacked Dr. Farber last year."

"That he acted in self-defense," Abe stated more than asked.

She sighed. "Farber claims something different."

Abe held out the folded pages to her. "I suggest that you read all of it, Jo, before you condemn Henry." Don't be like Nora, he pleaded to himself. He saw her steel herself, refusing to take the document back. He groaned as he rose from his chair and stood, rubbing his back with his free hand.

"Okay," he announced, "I'll read it to you." When Jo opened her mouth in protest, he raised a finger to her. "After which, you can ask me whatever questions you want." _'Not that I'll answer all of them,' he secretly acknowledged_.

It only took a little more than 15 minutes for Abe to read his father's full statement to Jo, who alternately squirmed during some passages and sat frozen during others. He finished reading it out loud and folded it over again, placing it in her unwilling grasp. She stared down at it in her lap, her face pale and unreceptive to its contents.

"I don't know what to do with this, Abe." She fingered the document then pressed it down onto her lap as if to make it disappear. "Why would he lie like this?" She turned to him for the first time in a while. "Or ... are they lies?"

Abe viewed her as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. "Not lies, Jo," he replied matter-of-factly. Her eyes lowered to the document in her lap, her brow knitted in confusion. She slowly unfolded it again and stared at the first page.

"Well ... what am I supposed to do with something like this?" Jo looked up anxiously at Abe for guidance, any kind of advice. Immortality. Did Henry really expect anyone to believe this?

Abe finished filling a wine glass, which he passed to her. As he poured another for himself, he sat back down and told her, "If I were you, I'd get the _full_ story from Henry. There's more to it than what's written down there," pointing to the document in her hands. He straightened up and sipped from his glass. "Then, I'd go talk to that Foghead, Farber."

"A-Abe, he just woke up from a coma. He's been sick," she reminded him but bit back her laughter.

"Still is, if you ask me," he replied sarcastically.

A smile betrayed her as she stood up, slipping the folded statement back down into her coat pocket. "Actually, Hanson and I have already tried to question him but his doctor, Dr. Grainge, advised we wait until after his psychological evaluation was completed."

"When will that be?"

"Sometime within the next two days," she sighed.

"Jo, correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't you guys be investigating if there's a body?" Abe asked. "No body here so, why is Henry in custody? Sounds like the Major Case squad should be handling this, if you ask me."

"You watch too much TV, Abe," she replied, her smile quirking again. "In some cases, professional courtesy allows our jurisdiction to be extended. And the MC squad was more than willing to hand the reins over to us on this one because of their heavy caseload."

Abe shrugged, raising his eyebrows at her reply. He eyed her before asking, "Should you be so involved with this, though, since you and Henry are so emotionally invested into each other?" He raised his eyebrows again in surprise at her look of stunned embarrassment. "What? I wasn't supposed to know this? I live with the guy. Have to see the sappy look on his face every time your name is mentioned or the thought of you crosses his mind."

"Okay, okay, I ... like Henry," she began. "Okay, a lot," she further admitted, begrudging the fact that she fought against a silly grin. "But Lieu tasked me with this and I'm going to do my job to get to the bottom of it," she finished, bobbing her head.

"I'm sure you will, kiddo," he told her. "Now! Ya hungry? Because I'm starved after that brow-beating your buddies gave me earlier today." Her jaw dropped and the silly grin she'd fought against spread across her face. Happy to share some friendly banter with her friend, grateful that he didn't resent her using him to pry information out of Henry. They went downstairs and out of the shop to a small soup and pasta shop two blocks away. Although the time spent together wasn't their usual cozy threesome enjoying a meal and friendly conversation, it still warmed both their hearts. And it was a welcome respite from the dark circumstances that had recently cast a dark cloud over them.

vvvv

The holding cell, except for the seatless toilet stool, was not as uncomfortable or dank as some others Henry had been in from time to time. Still, it wasn't home. And he could be looking to trade these bleak quarters in for even bleaker ones at Rykers Island if things didn't change soon for him. He knew from experience and from what Jo had told him, that he could be held for 24, even 72 hours without being charged. But that time limit could be waived if the crime were bad enough to warrant it. And this sounded bad enough.

He lay on the slab of a sleeping cot and took in a deep breath through his nose, puffing it out through his cheeks. Maybe he should have lied. Maybe he should have simply kept quiet. No, he groaned. Abe had to be released. He'd had to offer to Jo something in the way of a confession in order for his son to be released. No. He'd done the right thing. But there was something else that he had to admit to. He'd wanted to tell Jo the truth about his condition months ago. Of course, he scoffed to himself, jail and assault charges had never been intended to be a part of it, but ... so be it. She can do with it what she will. It was out of his hands now. Secretly, he hoped that she would seek out Abe's company and advice. If she did, he was sure that Abe would know how to handle things; how to convince her, if necessary. Unlike her trust in him, that he was sure had now lessened, he was sure that she would still trust Abe enough to at least listen to him.

 _'Believe him, Jo. Trust him. Help me out of this.'_

He didn't want to wind up in another mental institution, although he conceded it would be better than doing hard time in a regular prison. But no matter where he wound up, he knew that he was only one death away from freedom.

The events of the last two weeks played over in his mind. Adam's waking accusations against him; the cloud of suspicion that had grown darker around him; losing people's trust, especially Jo's; and his son's freedom and well-being being jeopardized. He clamped a hand over his eyes and heaved out another sigh of frustration. If it were just him, if he'd had no emotional entanglements, he'd have done the deed long ago. Died, vanished, moved on to places unknown. Borneo, maybe. Or the Amazon jungle. He'd been to those places before and was sure he could hide there for years or even decades before re-emerging to begin another new life out in the open. But he wasn't alone. He had Abe, whom he loved very dearly. No, he couldn't leave Abe again. And Jo. He knew he couldn't leave her. Not now when he finally realized that he cared more than deeply for her. He just wanted her to believe him. Really needed for her to believe him and ... help get him out of this.


	4. Adam Wakes Up Ch 4

Lewis' first physical therapy had not gone well. He may have shaken off his locked-in condition, but the messages from his brain to his legs continued to misfire. He grimly recalled what his Physical Therapist, D'Angelo, had told him earlier in an attempt to cheer him up.

 _"It's like that for most everyone first time out the gate. Don't worry, Man, you'll get there."_

 _"And just what makes you so confident about that?" he'd asked in a fatigue-tinged voice._

 _"Because you_ _want_ _to walk again." He'd snapped his head up to stare into D'Angelo's kind but serious face as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Lotsa folks come through here and leave out the same way because they get discouraged and give up. You," he'd pointed at Lewis, "don't strike me as the kinda guy who gives up too easily."_

As frustrated as he was with his unsuccessful first attempts at transferring himself either into or out of his wheelchair, he found it hard to believe D'Angelo's encouraging words but he greatly appreciated them. Speaking of which, where was his personal rooting section, i.e., his wife? Why, according to the hospital staff, had she only visited him once? And why didn't he have a memory of that visit? Probably because it was when they'd first brought him in and everything in those first few days remained a blackout for him.

But wouldn't the hospital have informed her as soon as he'd woken up? Did he have living parents, siblings? Had his colleagues not cared? Was he a pariah in that he had no friends other than perhaps Morgan? Questions such as these played over and over in his mind, prompting other questions but providing no answers; just a throbbing headache. He now knew when to stop the questions in order to avoid that big hurt.

An old feeling of alone-ness washed over him. It had come over him a couple of days before and had lingered, feeling strangely familiar as though he'd felt that way for a long time. But why? Were he and his wife not on good terms? Were they separated or, worse, divorced?

At least his session with the psychologist, Dr. Karen Willoughby, seemed to have gone well. Although his memory was not intact, his general psyche, she had concluded, appeared to be healthy.

 _"There's no magic bullet to cure what you're experiencing, Lewis," Willoughby had told him. "Anyone or anything could trigger you to regain your memory instantly. Some people, however, regain their memory gradually over a period of time," she'd shared._

 _He'd studied her for a few moments before asking, "And if I never do regain it?"_

 _She'd blinked rapidly a few times, then lowered her eyes to his chart, noting in it and then closing it. She lifted her eyes back up to meet his with what he saw as a forced smile. "Let's not worry about anything like that, shall we?"_

But he had to worry. There was an emptiness in the places of his ... what? ... soul? ... where there should have been vague awarenesses of loved ones and experiences, accomplishments. The only few images that had fleeted across his mind were those of Morgan either visiting him in the hospital or in his office during what appeared to have been a session. But also, darker images now begged to be recognized. It was like ...

He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his slowly shaking head, willing clarity to the fuzzy images. After a few tense moments, he abandoned the struggle and released a pent-up breath. He rubbed his forehead and realized that unlike the other flashes of memory with Morgan in them, this latest one, though fuzzy, was darker and tenser. It was as if they had been ... arguing?

"Lewis, Lewis, get a hold of yourself," he told himself out loud. "Why in the world would Morgan and I have been arguing? We're supposed to be friends, after all." He frowned at his own conclusion, doubting it.

 _"We're not friends."_

The terse statement struck at him from out of nowhere causing him to suddenly snatch in a breath and hold it, surprised at the memory of Morgan's voice, full of bitterness. When? When was he ever told that? He closed his eyes but not so tightly this time, willing Morgan's embittered voice to repeat the words, for him to see Morgan's apparently unhappy face as he'd spoken them.

 _"Stay away from me!"_

He saw Morgan snarl those words at him and spin on his heel and walk away from him. Lewis shot upright in his bed and pounded his fist on one of his unresponsive legs. "Where was this? When? Why was Morgan so angry with me? What could I have done to make him address me with such obvious disgust?"

The memory of Morgan's angry words worried him. Almost frightened him. Was he actually a bad sort who had provoked the man's anger? Was the knowledge of any of his bad deeds hiding in those empty holes in his memory? Lewis searched his heart to see if, to _feel_ if any malice lurked there. Although he found none, he realized that he was fighting back tears. For what if they were there and he simply dared not acknowledge them?

A hospital worker noisily and cheerily brought in his dinner meal and placed it on the tray table next to his bed.

"Hello, Lewis," she greeted him. "Ready for your dinner?" He smiled wanly back at her, expecting yet another bland, tasteless offering from the kitchen. He lifted the stainless steel covering to expose the baked salmon (did he even like fish?), rubbery string beans, and watery mashed potatoes.

The worker, a pleasant woman in her mid to late 20's, smiled at him as she turned to leave. The sight of her high cheekbones, large eyes, and brown hair pulled back into long ponytail nudged another image to the forefront of his consciousness.

"Thank you," he called after her. She turned around to face him again and bid him welcome. His eyes zeroed in on her name tag and her last name, Martinelli, jumped out at him. Why ... would that ... mean anything to him? Martinelli, Martinelli, he repeated to himself. Large eyes. Brown hair. He closed his eyes tight again, barely breathing as if that would help the remembrance come forth more clearly.

 _"Did you knowww your partner followed you down here?"_

His eyes popped open. That was his voice. Taunting. Taunting someone. Partner? Whose partner? Who could he have been talking to? It was dark, he remembered, very dark and ... filth laden. What on earth would he have been doing in such a cold, dark place? Who would he have been talking to in such a taunting manner? And why would the name Martinelli ... ? Suddenly, images of another woman with similar features flashed before him. Different times, different clothing, but this woman whose name was perhaps also Martinelli?

Lewis pushed the tray table away from him with the now unwanted food on it. He fought the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. Martinelli, he prodded at the memory and images again. Then, he froze when he saw the woman with a gold badge clipped to her waistband. Barely breathing, the correct name popped forth. "Martinez," he whispered. She's the partner he'd tauntingly referred to. Partner to whom, though? Then the answer hit him like a ton of bricks. He desperately reached for the call button as he began to suffer a fit of dry heaves. Fighting back tears as well, the image of Martinez's partner, the recipient of his taunting, cleared through the mists of his memory: Morgan.

After several agonizing minutes, a nurse quickly approached his bed. Not giving her a chance to ask why he'd rang, he shouted, "I must speak to the police! Detective Jo Martinez!" He lay back on the undersized pillows, breaths coming in quick snatches. And, in a quieter voice, added, "I must speak to her now." What on earth had he done? What on earth had he done?


	5. Adam Wakes Up Ch 5

_"Have you read this?" Abe asked. "All of it?"_

 _"Only that first line," Jo replied._

 _"You should read all of it before passing judgment," he told her._

vvvv

Jo looked down at the three pages of Henry's confession, now wrinkled and worn in her hands. What was she even doing with it, she asked herself. She'd never walked off with a suspect's written statement before. This was a violation of those Judge's rules, right? And could cost her her badge. Her job, even. But it seemed that in keeping with the utter strangeness of this whole investigation, Lt. Reece had turned a blind eye to her having left the precinct with it. Possibly because Reece knew that she planned to question Abe further once she'd driven him back to the shop? Jo shook her head, closing her eyes, in an attempt to settle things more securely in her mind. Sighing heavily and wishing that time could turn back to three weeks earlier when none of this had landed in their laps, she lifted the paper up and re-read what Abe had just read out loud to her. It was the first line that had immediately thrown her for a loop.

 _"I am immortal."_

The words caused her to stop reading again but she took in a few deep breaths and forged on.

 _"My life began normally in 1779 but ended in a most fantastical way in 1814 when I was shot in the chest and thrown overboard while on a slave ship called 'The Empress of Africa'._

"That slave ship in the Rick Rasmussen murder case," she said out loud. "That's why he knew right off the bat both the type and name of the ship." She read further.

 _'My life as an Immortal began immediately after that when I found myself alive again and naked in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean."_

"The skinny dipping," she whispered out loud again. Her eyes met Abe's as he dipped his head deeply twice. Her eyes dropped back down to read more but she skipped ahead to the second of the three pages.

 _'The other Immortal who calls himself Adam but, apparently, lives and works in the open under the pseudonym of Dr. Lewis Farber, is quite mad. It was he, not Clarke Walker, who stalked me for several months before and after Christmas in 2014.'_

"My God, Henry," she gasped. "If only you had sought our help back then." She had heard Abe read it out loud to her but now the words sank in further; including the reasons he had chosen to deal with his troubles on his own.

 _'He was convinced that the weapons that had caused our first deaths could also cause us to experience permanent deaths. In his case, the Roman dagger, the pugio. He wanted it back and he was willing to harm or even kill anyone who got in his way including those close to me; those I care deeply for.'_

Jo recalled that investigation in which the pugio had seemed to figure prominently. One night, frustrated with Henry's odd and increasingly obstructive behavior, she had asked him what she was to him. He'd replied that she was someone he cared deeply for. She now realized that he had been trying to protect her back then. That, although not naming her in his statement, he was most likely referring to her and, of course, his friend, Abe. A smile and a tear fought each other for control of her emotions and she read further.

 _'After obtaining the dagger, I called him to let him know. He insisted on me passing it to him on an abandoned portion of the subway where the old Canal Street exit used to be. However, he didn't just want for me to hand him the dagger, he wanted me to fight with him. When I merely tossed the dagger at his feet and walked away, he became enraged and declared loudly that I couldn't NOT play. Play along in another of his senseless but deadly games.'_

She read further about how Adam had taunted him by bringing up his dead wife, Abigail, and the last moments of her life, including a black and white photo of the two of them in happier times and Abigail holding their baby. That part was so very confusing to Jo because now he was saying it was him, not his grandfather, in the photo with Abigail and ... their baby? She lowered the statement to her lap, clutching the sides of it in a white-knuckled grip. That photo was so old. It couldn't possibly have been him in it. Not in the mid-1940's, not looking the same as he did today! And who was that baby who would be around the same age today as ... as ... She slowly raised her eyes and looked at Abe calmly sipping wine in the armchair across from her.

"Let me guess," he began. "You've gotten to the part about the photograph showing a happy couple and their cute, little baby, right? The man looks a lot like Henry?" He swirled and sniffed the contents of his wine glass, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Who ... who are those people in the photo, Abe?" she asked, confused and fighting with all her might against accepting any of it as truth. For, if she did, that would mean she'd lost her marbles, too, or ... that Henry was the man in the photo. That he truly had lived a very long life and was, in fact, immortal. Something that was totally impossible!

"Jo, I've read it out loud to you!" he pointed out impatiently. "Haven't done anything like that since fifth-grade essay competitions," he growled. He put his wine glass down on the small table next to his chair and leaned forward. "The year was 1945. Henry is the man. The husband. He's standing next to his wife, Abigail and she's holding their bouncing baby boy." He sat back and took possession of his wine glass again and proudly added, "Me."

Jo's eyes widened in astonishment, her jaw dropped, and she slowly shook her head as Abe slowly nodded his head up and down as if to counteract her stubborn disbelief.

"No. No. This can't be true," she said, emphasizing each word in a vain effort to remain calm and clearheaded. "But ... " Memories of Henry's eccentricities, his wardrobe choices of updated period dress, his seemingly bottomless well of knowledge cascaded one over the other in her mind, effectively washing away the wall of doubt she so desperately clung to.

"But ... ?" Abe asked, urging her to finish voicing her thoughts.

"I, I ... I can't ... " She just didn't know what to say to all of this. Abe continued to nod his head up and down, silently telling her that she could. She could believe Henry's story. She could believe him.

Jo suddenly straightened up in her seat, recalling what she thought was a crack in their story. "You and Henry told us that your mother was Sylvia Blake!"

The playfulness in Abe's attitude ebbed greatly and he looked down into his wine glass before gulping down the rest of it. Sighing, he placed the empty glass back on the small table. "That was an alias of hers," he quietly told her with a somber look on his face. "Mom wanted to make sure that she wouldn't be found." His blue eyes held a tired sadness.

"Then ... those bones we dug up in Tarrytown and brought back here ... " Her words halted at the remembrance when Henry, clearly grief-stricken, had uncharacteristically accepted corrections from Lucas during the COD summation. Her heart had broken to see him in such a state of grieving and uncertainty but all the more now that everything fell into place regarding his secretiveness and the reasons for it.

"He was doing his best to keep all these things hidden from people other than you so that he could ... just ... just be allowed to live in peace." Abe's eyes wandered away from hers as he nodded his confirmation. They both startled when Jo's phone rang. She pulled it out of her jacket pocket and swiped it to answer the call. Staring anxiously at Abe, she forced herself to stay focused on the call. Before ending the brief call, she noted the time (4:58 PM) and said, "OK. I'm on my way now."

vvvv

7:08 PM...

Henry remembered his dinner meal and grunted, his eyes bugged in unhappy disbelief. A generous portion of what looked like pork N beans; two hot dogs crisscrossed over sauerkraut; and one slice of white bread. Abe had sent him off with a hearty breakfast that morning and he now regretted having skipped lunch because he'd been escorted out of the morgue to be questioned shortly after 2:00 PM. Hunger was beginning to gnaw at his insides since he'd partaken sparsely of that questionable dinner faire. Right now, Lucas' energy bars were making his mouth water.

 _'Should have eaten all of it,' he lamented. 'Keep up my strength until all of this bad business is cleared up,' he told himself_. He had to admit that the beans, at least, hadn't tasted half bad. Wasn't Abe's delicious cooking, though. Resigned to having to eat similar meals during his "stay", he failed to notice the guard approach his cell.

"Morgan, you're free to go," the uniformed guard announced in a routine manner.

Henry looked up to see the guard opening the cell door and he quickly shoved thoughts of his bad culinary experience aside and grabbed his suit jacket. As he was escorted out of the holding area and down a hallway to sign for his belt and other personal belongings, he smiled and turned his gaze upward. _'There is a God,' he declared to himself._ In the back of his mind, though, he wondered what turn of events could have resulted in him being released.

vvvv

Two hours earlier ...

The hospital floor was dimly lit but bright enough that it took away at least some of the gloom associated with the reason for anyone being there. Jo walked up to the third-floor nurses' station and raised her badge, displaying it to the two women behind the counter. One of them, a ringer for Nurse Ratchett in that 1970's mental hospital movie, smiled and informed her that they'd been alerted of her impending visit already, and directed her to Lewis' room. Jo smiled her thanks and walked the short distance there but stopped outside the door to wait for her partner, Mike Hanson, before going in.

"Hey, Jo." Mike's voice was heard behind her as she stood staring at the door. He sighed as she looked over her shoulder at him. "Let's go in. Find out what Farber has to say." She nodded and knocked on the door. A voice inside bade them enter and they did.

Lewis turned off the already muted TV and raised the front part of his bed up as the two detectives approached him. He nodded as Jo and Mike flashed their badges and identified themselves to him.

"I remember you," Lewis breathed out with a slight smile. "Detective Jo Martinez."

Jo nodded mutely. "We met in your office once." She recalled at the time how nice and cooperative he had been when he'd offered up a patient of his, Clarke Walker, as having been Henry's most likely stalker. She also recalled bitterly how adversely killing Walker had affected Henry. And he wasn't even his real stalker. But she and Mike weren't here to talk about that. Not yet, at least.

Lewis stared blankly at her. "I'm ... sorry. I do recognize you but," he shook his head, "don't recall meeting you in my office. My memory is spotty since I woke up, for want of a better term," he explained. "However," he began and stopped, seeming to search for the right words. "It is my understanding that Dr. Henry Morgan is in custody, charged with assaulting me."

"Correct," Mike responded. "Your own words once you woke up, as you say."

"Well, it's not correct." Lewis looked away from both of them, staring at his feet. "He didn't assault me. At least - " he sighed and looked uncertain. Then, mustering up his courage, he looked at them again. "I was mistaken. Whatever charges you have against him should be dropped."

"He, um, actually hasn't been charged yet," Jo admitted. "We're still gathering evidence. Reviewing witness statements. But your accusation against him counts for the largest part."

"Well, I withdraw my accusation," he said matter-of-factly.

"You're recanting," Jo clarified. "Why is that?" She had to ask and document his response even though it was music to her ears.

"Yeah, you yourself said that your memory was spotty," Mike reminded him, although half-heartedly. His spirits had gotten a bounce, too, at Lewis' request to withdraw his accusation against Henry. A man he now counted as a trusted colleague; as a friend.

"Yes, but not about this," Lewis quickly replied. Right before Jo and Mike had arrived, he'd had another memory flash about his and Morgan's apparent confrontation in that lonely part of the subway. It made sense that he would have been Morgan's victim since he was the one to suffer physically afterward. Morgan would have been on top of him or he would have fought him off. But what had flashed briefly was him walking toward the other man, who lay bleeding on the gritty platform. He recalled that there was something in his hand as he walked toward Morgan. Keys? A cell phone? He recalled a motion of placing the item in an inside jacket pocket. Not the motion of putting keys or a cell phone in his pocket. A motion of replacing a weapon, a ... a gun into ... Yes, that's the way he remembered holding it. The handle of a gun and ... inserting it back into its holster. Lewis shuddered in horrified realization. Morgan had been bleeding. He, however, had been upright, walking with, with a gun. My God, he'd actually shot the man! He'd shot him. But why? The argument. They'd, they'd argued over ... something. Something quite unpleasant as he recalled the look of unbridled anger and disgust on Morgan's face. He was unaware of that his body had tensed and his eyes were open wide as saucers at the recall of these events.

"Are you okay?" Jo asked, concerned. "Want us to get one of the nurses?"

"No, no, that ... that won't be necessary," he managed to say, working frantically to calm himself down. "I, I have these, these images flash in my mind, that's all. Memory flashes, I call them." He swallowed. "Some of them have become quite, quite disturbing." He looked at Jo and Mike and stated more strongly, "That's why I'm recanting. There's no way to be sure of what is real and what isn't in my mind," he explained further. It was becoming clear to him what was real, though. He had done something to push Morgan into harming him. Thankfully, he hadn't died from what looked like a debilitating, if not fatal, gunshot wound.

vvvv

The two detectives walked out of the room and back into the hospital corridor. Jo called the Lieutenant to update her after having questioned Farber. She let go a sigh of relief and smiled and nodded at Mike when Reece said that under the circumstances, Henry would be released immediately. The relief in Reece's voice was unmistakable, as well. However, when Jo informed her of an unusual request that Farber had just made, their relief was short lived.

"He wants us to do _what_?" Reece demanded.

"He wants us to help him by recreating some sort of encounter he'd had with Henry on the abandoned subway platform," Jo repeated. It bore repeating for herself, too. She looked helplessly at Mike, who stood nearby with his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

"Yeah, Lieu. He's hoping it would help fill in some gaps in the fragmented memory, as he calls it," Jo explained further. She listened and nodded. "Yes. He (Henry) would (have to agree)."

And that's how Henry wound up in Reece's office after being released, instead of happily bounding towards home. He'd sat and watched Reece as she'd ended her call to Jo. Then he'd sat and listened to her relay Farber's request for a re-enactment of their confrontation.

"It's totally up to you, Henry," the Lieutenant told him. "You can refuse and go home. No charges are being brought against you now."

"Or I could agree and help clear this up once and for all," he stated as his alternative. Jo had his written confession, there was no taking it back now. And he did want them all to understand fully the kind of man Adam was. Why he'd chosen to neutralize the troublesome man in order to regain some sort of peace in his life.

Reece raised her eyebrows, sighing, but said nothing.

"All right," he said. "How soon?"

Notes:

References to:

S01/E18 "Dead Men Tell Long Tales"

E21 "The Night in Question"

E22 "The Last Death of Henry Morgan"

The 1975 movie, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" starring Jack Nicholson in which Nurse Ratchett was a prominent character.


	6. Adam Wakes Up Ch 6

Bellevue Hospital Room 310 ...

The call light for Room 310 lit up at the third floor nurses' station and Nurse Dorothy Eubanks noted the time, 3:10 AM, and rose from her seat behind the counter to respond to it. The short, stocky redhead stifled a yawn and hurried her steps, making a mental note to play those three in the lottery's Numbers game that only required three digits. Just might be her ticket out from the night shift, she hoped. At least enough winnings to finance her dream vacation of a cruise to the Bahamas. As she entered the room and drew closer to the patient's, Lewis Farber's, bedside, she tucked an errant strand of her long hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck and turned off the call light.

"What can I do for you, Doctor?" Even though he'd insisted she and the others call him Lewis, she didn't feel comfortable doing that. He was a doctor, after all, and he deserved to be addressed by his title.

"Sorry to be a nuisance," he replied sheepishly, "but may I have some juice?"

"Of course, Doctor. According to your chart, you didn't find your dinner appetizing?" she asked, smiling.

"No. Not at the time," he sighed.

"No problem," she told him. "I'll be right back with that. Uh, grape or apple?"

"Grape. My favorite," he told her, surprising himself at his reply. As she turned and left the room, he frowned with a slight smile. "My favorite?" he whispered. How interesting, he silently observed. Apparently, he was slowly beginning to recall little things like grape being his favorite juice. Butterscotch sauce on his ice cream. Vanilla. He chuckled softly, recalling also that he now knew that he hated jazz, country, and rap; loved watching operas and stage plays; and had flown in a hot air balloon somewhere with his hands clamped tightly over his eyes, afraid to look either down or around him. That particular memory had both amazed and confused him. The fact that he'd even had the courage to take a ride in one amazed him. The fact that he'd obviously been afraid during the ride, confused him as to why he would have taken it, anyway.

 _'So I'm a thrillseeker, an adventurous sort.'_

But he recalled that once the balloon's basket had come to rest again on the solid ground, someone had tugged his hands away from his eyes and assured him that it was safe for him to climb out. As he'd removed his hands and opened his eyes, he recalled that his style of dress was far different from anything he'd seen anyone else wear so far, but in a way, similar to Morgan's style of dress. A reddish-brown, thigh-length topcoat; a matching vest over a white shirt with billowy sleeves; tightly-fitting knee-length pants; white stockings; and black shoes with a large, metal buckle across the instep. Had he been at a costume party or participating in a play? Somehow, he knew that he had not.

He stiffened, rejecting Dr. Grainge's telling him that his brain might be churning out false images that could be mistaken for reality. No. The memory was real. He was sure of that. How he was sure, he didn't know. But why had he been dressed in such an odd fashion? And who had his companion been at the time? All that he was certain of, was that it had been a male. Younger? Older? He didn't know. A friend? Hopefully, yes, and not the "friend" he'd at first thought that Morgan was.

Sipping on the juice that the nurse had brought him, he mulled over the myriad of puzzle pieces that had to be put back together before he could successfully resume his life here in New York. But where to start? The detectives had promised to let him know one way or the other if Morgan was up to helping re-create their confrontation. If he wasn't, then he had to go it alone. The puzzle pieces would be fit back together, he adamantly promised himself and then smiled when he recalled DeAngelo telling him that he didn't give up easily.

 _'I suppose I don't.'_

Lewis didn't plan to wait around to hear Morgan's decision, for there were other avenues he needed to explore. His wife and children, for one. Where were they? Their names were in his medical and personnel files but WHO were they? It was apparent that he wouldn't be discharged for another few weeks, making it impossible for him to gather any clues from where he was told that he resided. Next best thing was to visit his office, Room T-1005, on the first floor. Tomorrow. (yawn) After physical therapy. (yawn) Tomorrow. Growing more and more drowsy, he finished the small container of juice and tossed it into the waste basket on the side of his bed. He lowered the top part of his bed and raised the lower part under his knees and settled back into the pillows, thankful for the sleep that was comfortably overtaking him.

vvvv

"Good job, Lewis!" DeAngelo exclaimed. "You'll be walking unassisted before you know it. I was right when I said you struck me as someone who didn't give up easily," he added, grinning.

"The sooner I can walk on my own," Lewis replied, "the sooner I can be discharged and get back to the business of living."

"Right, right," DeAngelo said. He lowered his voice after Lewis was able to seat himself in his wheelchair. "Now, about me taking you to your office ... I ... can't ... " his voice, suddenly reflecting a downcast mood, trailed off.

"Never you mind," Lewis replied, forcing a smile. "Shouldn't have asked you, anyway." He'd just have to find a way to get in there on his own.

"See ... I need this job, Man," DeAngelo explained. "I can't afford to get in trouble and be unemployed again. Not now. Not with my wife expecting our first child."

"No, no, of course not," Lewis told him. "Forget I ever asked you to take me over there. Probably wouldn't be good for me just yet, anyway."

"Yeah," DeAngelo replied, regaining some of his good humor. "When Dr. Willoughby gives the green light, I'll be more than happy to escort you over there."

Lewis barely heard him because he was working it out in his mind how to get into his office all by himself.

vvvv

Two weeks had gone by since Lewis had spoken to Detectives Martinez and Hanson and recanted his accusation that Dr. Henry Morgan had attacked him. But he was happy to have learned that the ME would help re-create their confrontation - he had no other words to describe it - on what he'd been told was an abandoned subway platform. That last part didn't sound too good. Not too good, at all. There was a growing part of him that didn't want to know anything beyond that. But he knew he had to go through with it if he was ever going to fully regain his memory. He knew instinctively that his interaction with Morgan was a key part of his recovery. Why, he didn't know. But he was still determined to find out.

He was now more ambulatory with the aid of a walker. The hospital staff invariably gave him smiles and waves of encouragement as he slowly made his way up and down the hallways. The outside corridor, he noticed, was less populated and less used by most of the patients. There, he could exercise his legs without the walker; away from the scrutiny of pitying eyes as he stumbled, fell, and rose again, only to repeat those physically painful and emotionally humbling actions. He pushed on, though, determined to augment his twice-weekly physical therapy sessions and hurry himself to an early discharge. But also he had to get into his office on his own. No wheelchair, no walker. Too consipicuous and too hampering.

vvvv

Abe Morgan leaned against the wall near his bedroom door as he watched his father appear to primp in front of the full-length mirror in his room. "Why are you checking yourself out in my room?" he asked.

"Because I don't have one of these in _my_ room," Henry replied, waving his hand downward at the mirror before turning around and twisting his head to look over his shoulder at the back of his reflection.

Abe brought his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest. "So why not get one of your own instead of invading my space?"

Henry shot a glare at him and let out an exasperated sigh. "Because I don't need to see what I look like in detail every single day." He turned around again to face the mirror, tilting his head to the right then to the left as he adjusted the sleeves and lapels of his blue, knee-length top coat. "I look the same every single day; the same as I've looked for the past 200 years," he added, sighing again.

Abe pushed away from the wall and shoved his hands back down into his pockets. He took a few paces toward his bed and turned to look at his father again. "So what's so special about your appearance now? Special date with Jo?" he asked, wiggling an eyebrow up. Abe loved teasing his dad, especially about the lovely detective, but his question held more hope that the two had finally found a way to begin what he was sure would be a lasting relationship.

Henry's shoulders sagged as he turned around to face his son. "A special date, yes, but not exactly with Jo." At Abe's frown of confusion, Henry continued. "Do you recognize this suit?"

"Yeah, uh, yeah, you wore that same suit when you ... oh." Abe first pointed to the suit then placed his finger over his lips. "When you and Adam scuffled in the subway. But I thought, I mean, he shot you and the suit would have disappeared along with your body."

"Yes, Abe, but remember that's why I have more than one set of some suits. Sometimes after an awakening, I've had to not appear to be dressed differently. It would arouse too much suspicion. In this case," he said, as he turned back around to face the mirror, "I must be dressed the same as I was when Adam and I met that day on that platform." He looked over his shoulder at Abe and dipped his head to emphasize that they never 'scuffled'.

"Sorry. Poor choice of words," Abe said. Then more quietly, he added, "Still don't see why you're so willing to help him get a grasp on his memory. He's a creep. A psychopathic creep, at that!" Henry had turned to face Abe again.

"What if everything comes back to him after this cockamamie re-creation and he kills you again and anyone else who happens to be there, including Jo? Huh? What then?" His pent up anger and misgivings about the planned event now boiled over. His anger and frustration clearly showed on his face as he plopped down in the chair near the door, gripping the arms and rocking slightly back and forth. Henry quickly walked over and placed one hand on his shoulder to calm him while he knelt in front of him. "Adam can't be trusted, Dad. And I don't want him hurting you or anybody else anymore."

"Abe ... son ... I understand how you must feel and your concerns are most appreciated but something inside me tells me that we should go through with this."

"You mean that you trust him?" Abe asked skeptically. Henry didn't answer. Setting his lips together and drawing them in, he rose to his feet and stared blankly at his reflection. "Just as I thought," Abe said, eyeing him up and down. "What do you plan to do if things go south?"

Henry fingered the length of a syringe hidden in his pants pocket. "The same as I did before, if necessary."

vvvv

Six days after he began exercising his legs in the corridor outside his room in preparation for sneaking into and out of his first-floor office, Lewis finally stood in the middle of it, looking around. The sense of accomplishment was felt only fleetingly because he still had so much to do before leaving it and returning to his room unnoticed. His eyes adjusted to the dim light and the moonlight through the window blinds, surprisingly helped provide just enough light for him to safely wander around the office as he reviewed item after item. The wall behind his desk with the citations of his academic pedigree from BA to Doctorate. Apparently, he'd graduated from Yale but the print was too small and it was too dark for him to see the years on the documents. He moved on to the photo of him, seated, and a quietly attractive and smartly-dressed blonde woman he surmised to be his wife, stood behind his right shoulder. A boy of about eight stood behind his left shoulder and a girl of about five stood directly in front of the boy. Smiles. All smiling. Not brightly but still smiling. The girl would be his daughter, Cathy, and the boy would be his namesake, Lewis, Jr.

Lewis brushed his fingers over the top and down the side of the picture's frame, wanting, needing to feel them. He then picked it up and walked over to the window so he could study it under more light. Neither of the children, in his opinion, resembled him, but the girl appeared to have taken after her fair-haired mother. What was her name again? he asked himself. Frustrated with himself, he gripped the picture with both hands and tried harder to dredge her name up from his memories but couldn't. How could a man forget the name of the woman who had apparently born children for him? He turned the picture over and began loosening the clamps that held it in the frame. Before he could finish, he heard the door fly open. Thinking quickly, he stuffed the picture, frame and all, into the side of his robe.

"Who are you and what are you doing in here?" a male voice demanded. He assumed that this was one of the security guards he had managed to evade in order to obtain entry into his own office.

"Put your hands up and turn around! Now!" the voice demanded more urgently.

He slowly raised both hands and turned just as slowly around. When he did, he saw the silhouette of a person shining a flashlight in his face, causing him to squint and turn his face slightly away. The guard found the office's light switch and punched it on. When the light illuminated the room and Lewis' face, the guard's eyes became wide as saucers.

"Oh, Dr. Farber, it's you," the guard breathlessly exclaimed. "Thought the place was being robbed or something." The guard chuckled and removed his hand from his sidearm and lowered the flashlight and switched it off. "Oh, oh, you can lower your hands, Doctor," the guard grinningly urged him.

Lewis chuckled nervously, his heart pounding in his chest. "Uh, I was just, uh, looking around."

"Feeling nostalgic?" the guard asked sympathetically.

A snippet of conversation flashed through his mind, causing his breath to catch in his throat and his eyes to blink rapidly. "Wha-what did you say?" he stammered.

"Asked if you were feeling nostalgic." The word 'nostalgic' grated once more on his sensibilities like frantic, high-pitched, musical notes on a violin.

 _'Makes one feel (sucking breath in) nostalgic.'_

Again, that taunting edge to his own voice during a conversation with someone worried him. Did he not have any good memories of himself and his life? He must have helped someone along the way! His patients, at least. The taunting tone of his voice worried him but much more than that, who may have been on the receiving end of his taunt.

"Trying to get your bearings, eh, Doctor?" The guard's voice was now gentle, caring. Noticing how shaky Lewis now looked, he motioned for him to exit the room. "Let's get you back to your room.

vvvv

Notes:

Men's 1780's clothing description borrowed from

wiki/1775%E2%80%9395_in_Western_fashion#/media/File:GAINSBOROUGH,_Thomas_-_Johann_Christian_Fischer_(1780).jpg

Information about hot air balloon and its inventors, Montgolfier brothers, found at wiki/Montgolfier_brothers#Public_demonstrations,_summer_1783

Reference to Forever S01/E06 "The Frustrating Things about Psychopaths"


	7. Adam Wakes Up Ch 7

"Good morning and goodbye, Abraham." Henry greeted his son with a quick hug and pulled away to descend the stairs.

"Where are you going so early?" Abe asked. "At least eat some breakfast," he urged him.

"No time," he replied, over his shoulder. "I'll pick something up along the way." As he made his way out of the shop, he felt it was best not to alert his son to the fact that Lt. Reece intended to be present during the re-enactment and had requested a briefing in her office that morning. He didn't want to burden his son with any more details surrounding the planned re-enactment. The less he knew about it, the less he'd worry, Henry decided.

Nearly an hour later, he'd arrived at the OCME, having grabbed a coffee from the pastry cart on the corner. He now sat in Reece's office along with Jo and Mike. Reece had just finished reading his three-page confession and now sat behind her desk, blinking her eyes rapidly, her mouth slightly open and appearing to be uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Understandable, he thought. If he were in her shoes and knew nothing about immortality, he would conclude that the person who wrote it was either joking or insane. Reece finally found her voice.

"Doctor ... ," she began, "first let me say that it's good to see you back on the job. You were sorely missed and I believe I say that for all of us," she added, looking at the two detectives who nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. It's good to be back," he replied. It did feel good to be back. He enjoyed working here, working with Jo and the rest of them, weathering the ups and downs that went along with the job. He just wondered if they could weather this particular down.

"However, I have to admit that this," she said, pointing to the confession on her desk, "has to be the most ridiculous, most confusing thing you've ever done. You don't really expect us to believe any of this, do you?" Her tone was accusing, bordering on anger, her welcoming smile of only a few moments ago gone.

Henry sensed Jo's worried eyes on him and wished again that all of this wasn't happening. That he could wipe away her worries and they could all just go back to the way they were just a few weeks ago. He sighed, choosing his words. "Most people don't believe it. About my condition, that is. That is, until it's proven to them." Jo and Reece shot worried looks at him. Mike, who had kept his eyes lowered to the floor, jerked his head up and shot a worried frown at him, as well.

"Whoa, whoa, Doc," Mike said, patting his raised hands at him. "What are you sayin'?"

"Rest assured, all of you, that I have no intentions of proving my curse of being able to die and rebirth today." He looked at each one of them and quietly added, "Although one day it might become necessary to do so."

"Henry, tha-that just sounds ... crazy," Jo stammered out, shaking her head. She still wasn't sure what she believed anymore but the thought of him killing himself to prove his immortality just sounded ... crazy. And she was certain that she didn't ever want to see that.

"Yeah, Doc," Mike joined in. "We just wanna help you get beyond these ridiculous charges that Farber leveled at you. I know that he recanted and you were released, but most people only remember the crash. They don't hang around for the cleanup."

Henry smiled a bit at Mike's remarks and replied, "If, by that you mean that most people are more interested in hearing bad news instead of good news, I agree." He took in a deep breath and released it. "If the past has taught me anything, it's that I cannot be so thin-skinned as to concern myself with what others think of me. It's my life and I have to live it the best way that works for me. Whether surrounded by friends or ... on my own."

He looked at Reece, aware of the misgivings running through her mind. "Might I offer a suggestion, Lieutenant?"

"Sure. Go ahead," she replied, sighing.

"We should simply concentrate on the portion of my confession that describes the exchange between Farber and me if that will be more helpful."

"Alright, then," she breathed out. "Let's get started. Oh, and by the way, it's a go for this Friday evening."

vvvv

A snippet of conversation flashed through Lewis' mind, causing his breath to catch in his throat and his eyes to blink rapidly. "Wha-what did you say?" he stammered.

"Asked if you were feeling nostalgic." The word 'nostalgic' grated once more on his sensibilities like frantic, high-pitched, musical notes on a violin.

 _'Makes one feel (sucking breath in) nostalgic.'_

vvvv

Lewis sat on his hospital bed deep in thought about his visit to his office late last night. His memory was coming back at a quicker pace now, something for which he knew he should be very grateful. But the way that these puzzle pieces were slowly coming together was letting him know that he had cultivated a less-than-desirable past existence. It sickened him. It also made him wonder if he'd done anything else like shooting Morgan, that warranted criminal prosecution. And why was he not charged or even questioned about having shot him?

The framed photo of him with his wife and children now sat atop the plastic and metal nightstand next to his bed. He reached for it and brought it closer to him. When he heard the click-clack of stiletto heels, he knew that they belonged to his psychologist, Dr. Karen Willoughby. He put the photo back on the nightstand and waited for her. She was nice. Easy to talk to. He liked her. Because of that, he was totally unprepared for what came next.

She stopped at the foot of his bed, glaring at him. Her eyes moved from him and over to the photo on the nightstand. She looked at him again and rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "What are you doing with that?" she demanded. "Have you truly lost your mind?"

Confused, he replied, "This is my family; my wife and children. Why wouldn't I have - " she cut him off before he could finish his question.

"You have no family! This," she hissed, pointing at the photo, "is a prop! The woman and kids are models, actors!" Willoughby watched him closely for his reaction, one of astonishment, and couldn't believe what she was seeing. "You really thought ... ?" she asked, scoffing. Then her face hardened as she stood close to him and leaned down nose to nose with him. "I am your family, Adam. No one else. I'm the one whose helped you in the past. To get your job, to funnel psychos to you so that you could manipulate them into doing your dirty work."

His mouth worked but no sound came forth. He couldn't believe what she was telling him. That she now spoke of such cruel things as if to insinuate that he was some type of master manipulator and a fraud. And why was she calling him Adam? He was Lewis. Lewis Farber. He put his hands to his ears to block out her voice and began to hear his own voice shouting "No! No! No! No! Get out! Get out! Leave me alone! No! Go away! Go awayyyyyy!"

Willoughby continued in her tirade, reminding him that they had been lovers, that he said he would love her forever. That at first she'd thought his memory loss was just a charade. He kept his hands up to his ears trying his best to block out her words but images of their nude bodies entangled in a sweat-soaked frenzy bombarded him.

"No, no, it can't be," he whimpered. Had he really manipulated others into doing bad things for him? How? More images bombarded him now. The faces of men and women; sad, lost, troubled faces looking to him for something, for - .

"Is everything all right here?" a concerned voice asked.

Lewis opened his eyes, only then realizing that he'd squeezed them shut. The concerned voice belonged to Nurse Dani, part of the dayshift team. His heart was pounding in his ears making it difficult to hear what Willoughby said to her but she nodded and quickly left.

Willoughby turned her attention back to him and whispered, "It's important that you remember who and what you are, Adam. You're of no use to me like this. All nice and polite like that bleeding heart, Morgan."

"Why do you keep calling me Adam?" he asked. "My name is Lewis."

"Silly goose, that's your cover," she told him. "Don't you remember you said you would tell me your real name one day." She straightened up and plastered on a false smile when Nurse Dani reappeared with a tray that held a syringe and a small bottle of clear liquid.

Lewis watched, speechless, as Willoughby prepared the injection and Nurse Dani swabbed alcohol on his arm. He snatched away from her and demanded that they both leave.

Willoughby calmly informed him that he'd had a breakthrough but as a result, he needed something to calm him down. "We don't want to have to force this on you, Lewis, but we will, if necessary." Her blue eyes pierced his as she lowered her head and asked, "Now, allow me to minister the medication or would you prefer I call the orderlies to hold you down?" Nurse Dani looked nervously between the two of them. She visibly relaxed when Lewis positioned his arm to her again.

"Wise decision, Lewis," Willoughby told him. She tested the syringe by allowing some of the medication to squirt through the needle. "This will help you rest and when you wake up, you'll feel like a new man."

He felt the sting of the needle in his arm and the warmth of the medication spread quickly to pull him into a dreamless sleep.


	8. Adam Wakes Up Ch 8

_Henry looked at Reece, aware of the misgivings running through her mind. "Might I offer a suggestion, Lieutenant?"_

 _"Sure. Go ahead," she replied, sighing._

 _"We should simply concentrate on the portion of my confession that describes the exchange between Farber and me if that will be more helpful."_

 _"Alright, then," she breathed out. "Let's get started. Oh, and by the way, it's a go for this Friday."_

vvvv

The Lieutenant felt that it was best to have the confrontation portion of Henry's confession transcribed so that she and each of the other observers could follow along more easily with their own copy. When Mike suggested that the re-enactment also be recorded, Henry responded with a resounding "No!" And that he would withdraw his participation if that were done.

"Just a suggestion, is all," Mike muttered, somewhat taken aback at Henry's reaction. "Not like it's not been done before in other cases," he explained.

"For reasons pertinent only to me," Henry stated, "it is imperative that I avoid being photographically documented at all costs." Although he had reluctantly shared the secret of his condition with them in an indelible record, neither the Lieutenant nor Mike appeared to believe him. And Jo appeared to be struggling with accepting it as truth. However, agreeing to make a filmological record of him explaining his and Adam's encounter and condition that would become a permanent part of the NYPD's evidence archives? Not a good idea.

Reece slowly stepped in front of Henry, her hands on her hips and he braced himself for a possible reprimand. But she clasped her hands in front of her, eyes trained on him. "Dr. Morgan," she quietly began, "what if I promise you that it will be reviewed only by us and no one else? The official investigation is now closed but since you are such a valuable part of our team, we want to do this to put away any lingering doubts."

"Your doubts, Lieutenant?" he asked and immediately regretted interrupting her with an accusation. She was, after all, jeopardizing her job by doing what she could to help him.

Her eyelids fluttered as she gathered her words, "When this is all over," she began, ignoring his question, "your written, uh, confession and the video of the re-enactment will be given to you. You can do with them as you see fit." She studied the look of surprise on his face as he considered her words. "Deal?" she asked. What the hell, she thought to herself. So many other rules had been broken in this darn rabbit chase that a couple more wouldn't matter. But she had no intentions for any of them to lose their jobs behind this. For that reason, she knew that a plausible cover story for all their actions would have to be concocted in order to answer any questions that might arise later from others. Like her superiors. Or the Mayor.

Henry pursed his lips into a tight but grateful smile. "Deal," he replied, dipping his head. She smiled and turned to the two detectives.

"Neither of us will be recording, though," she told them. "We all need to be on our toes, ready to deal with whatever happens," she explained and turned back to face Henry. "Now, Doctor, is there anyone else you trust who can record it for us?"

Henry smiled. His son (whom he would rule out) and one other person came to mind.

vvvv

Thursday morning ...

"Lucas, what is all of this extra verbiage?" Henry asked, reading over the 'script' of his and Adam's encounter on the abandoned subway platform.

"Oh, um, it's just, um, that's just adding a little 'color' to helpfully describe how the person is feeling when they - "

"This is not a blasted stage play, Lucas. Remove it, please," Henry tersely ordered, handing the printed document back to him. Inwardly, he wondered if he'd made a mistake by entrusting the transcription and video recording to him instead of Abe.

"But - "

"All of it."

"A-all ... ?"

"Yes. Now."

"Removing," Lucas assured him, waving a hand up and shaking his head as he brought up the Word program on his personal laptop. He grimaced at Henry's back as he retreated into his office. Lucas began feverishly alternating clacks on his keyboard and clicks of the mouse to remove the offending, directorial descriptors. "Everyone's a critic," he murmured to himself. One day, he knew, his movie magic expertise would be greatly appreciated by ... someone. One day, he sighed. Just not today.

He saved the document and printed out a copy for Henry's review. Grabbing it off of the printer, he remembered to shut his laptop down. Then he walked into Henry's office and, apologizing, presented him with the revision and watched him nervously as he read it over.

Henry looked up at Lucas and thanked him. "Although your enthusiasm in aiding me in this project is greatly appreciated, you were only tasked with transcribing my handwritten notes. Nothing more, nothing less," he gently reminded the young man.

"Yeah. Uhhhh, about that," Lucas began. "What exactly is up with those notes? Weird stuff, if you stop to try to absorb it," he pointed out as casually as he could manage but clearly wishing for a deeper clarification.

Lucas' words gave Henry cause to pause and he began to wonder if he should bring his young assistant into his confidences. Normally, he would avoid that at all costs. But most likely it would be unavoidable after Lucas had viewed and recorded the re-enactment. "It's just that, Lucas. A project," he tried as the only explanation. "Please print out the necessary number of copies for the other participant and observers."

Lucas took the document and asked, "Don't you want to keep this one for yourself?"

Henry declined. "I remember it as if it were yesterday," he whispered in reply then forced a smile for him.

"And who, exactly, is this Adam guy?" Lucas asked as he turned the document so that it read from top to bottom. He looked questioningly at Henry. "Thought this was something that happened between you and your therapist, Dr. Farber."

Questions, Henry sadly thought to himself. The types of questions to which he usually could not provide answers, leaving both doubt and suspicion in the minds of the inquisitors; even in the minds of those whom he'd once counted as friends. The suspicion and/or growing awareness of what he truly was would eventually prompt him to suddenly uproot and begin a new life somewhere else.

"Yes. Between Farber and me," Henry replied. That wasn't a lie. Well ... not exactly. Between him and the man identified as being Farber, his former therapist. He was satisfied for only a moment with that way of describing it. The fact that he'd disclosed the truth to the others (Jo, Hanson, and Reece), mattered little that they'd chosen to dismiss his claim as some sort of unfathomable lie. Each of them would be equipped to defend themselves if anything went awry. Lucas, on the other hand, would not be armed and would be dependent upon him and the others to provide any needed protection for him. The guilt of non-disclosure to his trusting, young assistant, began to weigh heavily on him until he could bear it no longer. Sighing, he motioned for the young man to sit down in one of the chairs facing his desk. After having locked his office door and pulled the blinds shut, he sat behind his desk again and said, "There's more to my confession than that small portion you transcribed, Lucas. Allow me to fill you in."

vvvv

Henry's office, 45 minutes later ...

"That's the abbreviated version of my long story, my boy," Henry told him.

Lucas was gaping slightly and his eyes sparkled with a new awareness of his boss. His boss who was a walking storehouse of knowledge, history, and culture. His boss, who had most likely inspired Sherlock Holmes to be born into print and forensic pathology to become part of criminal investigations. But his continued silence and the look of being happily dumbfounded, worried Henry.

"You do understand why I've shared all this with you, don't you?" he asked.

Lucas closed his mouth, embarrassed, and swallowed before he began to drool. "Because you know that I can totally be trusted, right?"

Henry looked down at his clasped hands and smiled. "That is correct," he replied. "However, I also want to make sure you understand that by recording this ... event, you may be putting yourself in harm's way. Of course, I and the others will do all we can to keep you safe, but if you want to back out - "

"Back out?" Lucas asked, suddenly animated and shifting in his chair. "No way, Big Guy. I wouldn't miss this for the world! You and me; mano a mano; workin' the case. Whew!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "And the thought of you being alive until the 12th of Never? Awesome," he breathed out again. "Just one thing. I know you said that you're like more than a couple hundred years old, but you referring to me as 'my boy' ... kinda weirds me out."

A laugh rose up and worked its way out of Henry, surprising him. "Well, to be certain," he replied, laughing louder, "it weirds me out, too."

vvvv

Since Reece had insisted upon a walk-through, a sort of dress rehearsal, before the re-enactment, the small group (minus Adam/Farber), found themselves on the abandoned subway platform in question at approximately the same time of day as the original encounter.

Mike stepped on a dead rat stuck to the platform and jumped. "Geez!" he yelled before getting a hold of himself again. "Trash. Dirt. Pools of dried up who-knows-what. And dead rats!" he grumbled more to himself than to anyone else. He scuffed the bottom of his shoe against the gritty platform several times to rid himself of the feel of the dead rodent. He grimaced at Henry and asked, "You two couldn't have met in a nice clean Starbucks like most folks, huh?" Jo and Reece shot him a look but just shook their heads.

Brow furrowed, Henry's eyes roamed over the filthy, darkened space, while his mind dealt with the flood of memories from that day. "Sorry, Detective," he finally replied, although he knew it was a rhetorical question. "A public venue such as that would not have afforded us the amount of privacy required for our ... interaction. Two men arguing and brandishing weapons would have more than likely been recorded with the footage winding up on YouTube." Although he'd wished a thousand times since that day that he had insisted upon a meeting in a public place. But it would have only delayed the inevitable, he realized. Adam had been intent upon testing out his theory of them (him, actually) being able to die permanently if killed again with the weapon that had caused their first death.

Lucas looked admiringly at Henry and said, "You know about YouTube."

Henry smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Thanks to some special friends helping me lately, yes." He and Jo shared a knowing sideways look and a smile.

The small group ceased roaming around the platform and gathered together near the spot that Henry realized was where he'd lain shot and had eventually died. Jo realized it as the spot where she'd found his pocket watch and the old, black-and-white photo of a happy looking couple with a baby. They decided on where each of them would be positioned during the re-enactment. Reece, near the spot where Adam had stood when Henry had tossed the pugio to him and it had landed at his feet. Jo, at the middle of the platform near the stairs she had descended that day. Mike would be positioned at the opposite end of the platform near an unarmed Lucas while he recorded the event.

Lucas held his hands up in front of him as if holding a handheld camcorder and squinted into the poorly-lit area. He made a mental note that for the best results, he should use his Besteker Camcorder with its 270-Degree Rotation Screen. He wondered to himself why they didn't all just outfit themselves with NYPD Bodycams instead. But that would put him and his camcorder out of a job, so to speak, so he didn't bring it up. But Jo did.

"Too bad we can't just use individual bodycams," Jo mused. She felt they would capture any action more accurately than a distantly-utilized device.

"Unh-uh," Reece replied. "Would involve too much paperwork and red tape." And would require that many more lies for her to add to their cover story. "Let's wrap this up," she announced to them all. "We return here tomorrow, with Farber, at the designated time." They all nodded in agreement and filed out of the dingy area. Taking care not to touch the handrails, they climbed the stairs back up to the active platform. They then boarded the train that would take them back to the precinct. Once they arrived, they filed in individually. Before entering, though, Lucas bent down and whispered something to Henry, who glanced quickly over at Jo then back at Lucas. Lucas nodded, smiling and entered the building, leaving Henry and Jo just outside the entrance.

"What was that all about?" Jo asked Henry, her head tilted to the side. "My ears are burning."

Henry sighed, smiling slightly. "He asked me if you knew. I responded in the affirmative."

She returned his slight smile and said, "But he didn't ask if I believed you."

Henry averted his eyes to his feet, then to the busy traffic, then back to her. "I suppose that he found no need to question that you would."

"It, it's not like I don't want to, Henry," she began shakily. "My mind keeps taking me to a place of belief but I keep ... I keep running away from it. It's ... scary ... I don't know," she added, shaking her head and lowering her eyes.

He stepped closer to her, needing to reassure her. "It's all right, Jo. And it is scary. All of it." He took in a deep breath and let it out. "Let's not go back in yet," he said, squinting at the building's facade. "Can we go get a cup of coffee?" He returned her smile as she seemed to relax a bit and they dodged traffic to get to the coffee shop across the street.

vvvv

Bellevue Hospital ...

The Day Room an hour before the dinner meal was served at 5:30, was sparsely occupied by only four people. Two elderly women sat on a green loveseat with a light green leaf pattern near the wide-screen TV, happily engaged in a private conversation. Their laughter rose occasionally, seeming to annoy the middle-aged man on the other side of the TV as he rested on a sofa with an identical pattern. He sipped bottled ice tea through a straw and silently concentrated on the question-and-answer game show airing.

Lewis observed the goings on from a wooden armchair upholstered in plain green vinyl, only mildly interested, although he surprised himself at how many of the questions he was able to answer correctly. How did he know how deep the Mariana Trench was? Or when the Second Boer War was fought? How did he even know there had been a first? But what had bothered him most was knowing the names of the two brothers credited with inventing the hot air balloon. Their faces had materialized in his mind and he'd spoken their names ("Joseph-Michel and Jacques-Étienne Montgolfier") out loud. His three fellow patients eyed him with pleasant surprise and had softly applauded. He'd smilingly accepted their praise but the foggiest of conversations with the two brothers began to poke out from the edges of his dormant recollections and threatened to invade his present awareness. But it was impossible. Had to be television broadcast, a documentary or something that he'd seen at one time. That was it. Calm down, Lewis, he told himself. Then he laughed out loud at himself at how absurd for him to think that he'd actually conversed with either of the two men born in the 1700's and died in the 1800's! Fortunately, he'd laughed out loud at the precise moment that the TV host had rattled off a witty remark so his laughter mingled with the other three in the room, sparing him any undue embarrassment. He heard voices coming from the doorway and turned his head at the mention of his name. When he saw a nurse motion toward him and step aside to allow someone else to enter the room, he was completely caught off guard at who it was. He jumped to his feet and watched the attractive blonde woman take small, uncertain steps toward him and stop just a few feet away. The woman in the photograph with him and the children. His ... wife?

Notes:

Besteker HD 1080P 24 MP 16X Digital Zoom Video Camcorder with LCD and 270 Degree Rotation Screen

biography/Montgolfier-brothers


	9. Adam Wakes Up Ch 9

_Lewis turned his head toward the doorway at the mention of his name. A nurse motioned and stepped aside as someone else entered the room. He jumped to his feet and watched the attractive, blonde woman approach him uncertainly. The woman in the photograph with him and the children. His ... wife?_

vvvv

It took Lewis a few moments to gather the courage to speak but his mind was being bombarded with questions. The young woman worked up a tentative smile and said something to him. His brain was a step behind but he realized that she'd said "Hello" to him.

"Oh, uh, hello," he stammered his reply. "Would you like to sit down?" Her name still escaped him. But Dr. Karen Willoughby's harsh words came back to him; that this woman was not his wife. A model or actor hired to pose with him and the two children in order to give others - his clients, most likely - the impression that he was a loving family man.

She shook her head and stepped closer, handing him a small envelope. "I came to bring you this." He took the envelope and looked at it then questioningly back up at her. "It may answer some questions for you about me; about us." She laughed softly and said, "There actually is no 'us', though. Please forgive me." When she turned to leave, he grabbed her wrist without thinking.

"Please. Must you leave just yet?" There were so many unanswered questions. But it felt uncomfortable to feel the eyes of his three fellow patients on them. He lowered his voice and told her, "I really feel that we need to talk, but not here." His eyes pleaded silently with hers and she nodded. They walked out of the day room and down the corridor to his room. Once inside, he drew the curtains around his bed and closed the sliding glass door that led to the outer corridor. They sat on the lime green viny loveseat with chrome arms and legs on the side of his bed.

"Who exactly are you?" he asked, wasting no time. Holding up the envelope she'd given him, he asked, "And what's in here?"

She was momentarily caught off guard by his straightforwardness but replied, "My name is Rhonda Demarest; I'm a model." She then shrugged and added, "Well, at least I'm trying to be."

As if anticipating his next question, she told him, "We only met that one time in the photography studio. The children in the photo are my niece and nephew. They'd been so excited to pose for their first modeling assignment." Her brief smile faded as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and looked down at her folded hands in her lap. "We didn't know we were doing anything wrong. It was just another photo session, as far as I was concerned."

Lewis closed his eyes, disappointed to learn that Willoughby had spoken the truth. This woman and the children were strangers to him. Paid to do a job, nothing more. He blinked his eyes open, shaking his head. "Who hired you?"

She sighed before responding. "Dr. Karen Willoughby. Some sort of therapy for a patient, she'd said. But it's all in the letter I just gave you," she told him.

"Why would she have hired you to pose with me, pretending to be my family?" he asked. "I've, uh, recently suffered a bit of memory loss," he explained.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. But, well, it's really not that uncommon. People request photos to be taken of themselves in any number of costumes or situations or locales to give themselves and others the appearance of being successful. Happy. Fulfilled," she offered. "You did seem to be happy with the results."

"You ... you're the one who visited me when they first brought me to the hospital." She nodded. "Identified yourself as my wife." She nodded again. "Why?"

Rhonda surprised him by blushing and looking down at her folded hands again. "I ... I don't know. I guess I just wanted to ... " She sighed again and closed her eyes. Side-eyeing him, she finally continued. "Like I said, we had only met that once in the studio but ... " She turned to him, her brow slightly knitted. "We seemed to hit it off. Made a connection. At least, that's what I had thought at the time. You really don't remember? You were really very sweet."

"Well, thank God for that!" he exclaimed, chuckling and slapping his hand on his knee. "I've heard some pretty awful things about myself lately."

"No, no. We talked. Found out we liked a lot of the same things. I gave you my phone number and ... and waited for you to call me but you never did."

"Sorry. I must have fallen ill shortly after that."

"It actually was shortly before Christmas that year. I'd looked forward to maybe us spending it and New Year's together," she admitted. "When I didn't hear from you, I figured that you changed your mind or found something better to do."

"No, I ... " Lewis didn't know what to say or what to think. Only that he couldn't think of anything that would have prevented him from calling this lovely woman. Lovely? Lewis! You've just met her. Control yourself. He slowly drew in a breath and released it as a swath of yellow fabric flashed in his mind's eye. A head turned. Blonde hair. A smile.

"You wore a yellow dress. A two-piece," he told her.

"Yes, I did, but - "

"You changed into a darker dress for the photo." Lewis said it with a bit of wonder on his face, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"That's good. You remember," she said, smiling.

"I'm afraid, only that," he admitted. "But how did you know that I'd been taken to the hospital?"

"The day that you collapsed on the subway platform, I was there, waiting for my train. When I saw you walking toward me, I thought ... Anyway, someone called 911 and as your wife," she chuckled, "I was able to ride along with you."

"I see. Well, thank you for being there for me at that time."

After a moment of silence, Rhonda stood up. "I'll be going now. Just wanted to come and finally explain things to you." As she drew the curtain partially back to leave, he suddenly became bashful but asked if he would see her again. "My phone number and address are in the letter," she told him, blushing again and grinning.

Lewis sat there going over everything she'd told him, happy that he finally had heard some good news in the middle of all of the bad. He had no idea how things would turn out tomorrow evening during or after the re-enactment of his and Morgan's encounter but for these few moments he could flood his mind with more soothing thoughts. And, depending on how things turned out, maybe he would just make that call to Ms. Rhonda Demarest, sometimes model and actress. Memory still not fully intact, nevertheless, he felt as though he had not had a whole lot to smile about in a very long time.

vvvv

Lt. Reece left her office and walked over to where Jo and Mike stood waiting for her at their desks, ready to leave with her, Henry, and Lucas, to oversee the re-enactment in the subway.

"We'll have another attendee," she told them as they all headed out to the elevators. "Dr. Farber's psychologist, Dr. Karen Willoughby, will be joining us. She wants to be there in case Farber has any trouble dealing with things."

"Makes sense, I guess," Jo said. "Will she have a 'script', too?"

"No. Her job is to observe Farber and halt things, if necessary," Reece replied.

The doors of the elevator opened in the lobby and they stepped out. Lucas was standing by the door trying not to appear as interested as he was in the scene just outside the building. Henry and Abe were discussing something very animatedly, worry and concern on both of their faces.

"What's going on with those two?" Mike asked.

"Abe showed up just as we got here," Lucas replied. "He's concerned for Henry's safety." He looked at his companions and added, "For all of us, actually." Of course, he'd be concerned about his father, Lucas said to himself. He could only imagine how gut-wrenching it must have been for him to wait it out when the real thing had gone down. And it was nice of him to be concerned about Henry's colleagues. Nice guy, Lucas thought.

Jo was thinking along the same lines. Henry was supposed to be Abe's father. She now believed that. And that Henry had a much longer story to tell than the small portion he and Abe had recently shared with her. Abe's concern for his father was only natural. Heck, if it were her own criminal-minded father, she knew that even she would be concerned for him. Something, anything could go wrong. History could repeat itself. This time it might not result in just Henry and Adam being injured or worse. Lieu was right. They all had to be on their toes. Eyes and ears open, weapons at the ready.

But she was glad that she now believed Henry was, indeed, the man who had raised Abe from a baby, along with his wife, Abigail. It was just an incredible thing to know, and after this was all over, she intended to corner the both of them - especially Henry - and learn the rest of the long story.

"I take it that Farber's shrink is bringing him?" Mike asked, as he shamelessly watched Abe and Henry conclude their discussion. Abe, looking still unconvinced, nodded and got into his car and drove away.

"His psychologist," Reece emphasized with a raised eyebrow to Mike, "and he will be dropped off at the subway station. I sent a car," she added. "Let's head out," she said.

They exited the building and joined Henry on the sidewalk. Jo caught his eye and gave him a quick smile of encouragement. Thirty minutes later, they found themselves once again on the dirty, abandoned subway platform. They each took their places as agreed upon during the run-through the day before and waited for Farber and Willoughby to arrive.

Henry looked over the desolate area again. At the walls filled with graffiti that ranged from the lewd to the artistically beautiful to the poetically profound. At all the trash and debris; evidence of humanity's discards. At the spot again, where he'd bled out from a fatal gunshot wound to the chest, courtesy of Adam. His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he'd had earlier with Abe in front of the precinct when he heard a familiar voice utter two words that had always unsettled him.

"Hello, Henry."

Notes:

This chapter is ultra short, I think, but it seemed like a good stopping point. The re-enactment will have its own chapter.

Also, I couldn't determine exactly what time it was that Henry and Adam met in the subway so I guesstimated between 4:00 and 6:00 PM. Lucas is shown still working in the morgue and in the Gloria Carlysle episode, Henry had mentioned that Lucas left at 8:00 PM. It was still light outside when Abe was shown waiting near the river. And even though it's not clear if Jo showed up at the shop with the old photo and Henry's watch that very same day, I'm guessing she did.

If someone else has been able to determine the correct time they met on the subway, please share.


	10. Adam Wakes Up Ch 10

_Henry looked over the desolate, trash-strewn area again. At the graffiti-covered walls; at the spot where he'd bled out from a fatal gunshot wound to the chest. Then he heard a familiar voice utter two words that had always unsettled him._

 _"Hello, Henry."_

vvvv

Henry's companions grew concerned when they noticed how he had stiffened at the sound of Lewis' simple greeting. The look of unadulterated hatred on his face also worried them. Since Jo and Lucas believed his claim of being an Immortal, they were more concerned and apprehensive about their friend interacting once again with this other Immortal who'd harmed him in the past. Reece and Mike, still mentally tabling that portion of Henry's confession, eyed each other briefly, their gunhands automatically moving to their respective weapons. They then resumed observing the two former combatants.

Henry turned around to face Lewis, expecting to see the man's pale face with that familiar, sinister glint in his eye and smirk on his lips. Instead, he was somewhat surprised to see a rather nervous and innocent-looking man in front of him. His face was no longer pale but well-scrubbed with normal coloring in his cheeks. However, he was dressed in the familiar black ensemble with the flat-topped newsboy cap, as he had been instructed for the purposes of this meeting. Perhaps it was because the few times he'd ever seen Adam, he'd usually worn that same outfit with that cap he'd grown to hate. But they were all here now. Nothing more to do than to proceed.

Lewis extended his hand but when Henry didn't respond and just stared, frowning at his hand, he withdrew it. He swallowed and cleared his throat before saying, "Thank you for agreeing to this."

In order to give a civilized response, Henry had to summon up all of his teachings in the ways in which a gentleman should deport himself when confronting an enemy. For Adam had certainly proven more than once in the past that he was his enemy. "You're welcome," is all he could muster up.

But there was neither a false, British accent nor any taunting smugness in Adam's tone of voice. He seemed to Henry to be anxious under a facade of calm. There also appeared to be contrition in both his tone and manner. Could he truly have shed himself of the evil-minded ways of the troubled Immortal he had come to know? Was he now simply Lewis Farber? Harmless. Normal. It was still too early for Henry to tell. After all, he'd trusted Adam when he'd first posed as Farber, his psychotherapist.

The two men were vaguely aware of an exchange of greetings between the others. Lewis frowned and his mouth opened slightly as he took in Henry's outfit. He lowered his head and pressed his lips together for a few moments, then released the frown with a heavy sigh. "Nice suit," Lewis said with a slight smile. "Feel more than under-dressed next to you." In truth, the outfit looked familiar but he didn't understand why.

Despite some misgivings, Henry's left cheek pulled up into a weak, lopsided grin. He didn't respond, though, having no desire to make small talk with Adam, even if he really had been transformed into nice-guy Lewis Farber.

"We can begin," Reece announced, looking around at all of them. She motioned to Lucas, who nodded and gave a copy of the 'script' to Lewis.

"What's that?" Willoughby asked.

"It's a transcript of sorts to help us follow along as they re-create their movements that day," Reece replied.

Willoughby looked over Lewis' shoulder at the paper. "It's a good thing I'm here," she said, looking up at Reece. "This fantastical wording looks like someone has an overactive imagination." She cast an accusatory glance at Henry which earned her an annoyed glare from Jo.

Before Henry could reply to Willoughby, Jo spoke up. "You don't have to defend yourself to her, Henry," Jo told him, still glaring at Willoughby. "Fortunately, her opinion doesn't amount to a hill of beans." Willoughby was rendered speechless by Jo's terse reply but Lewis turned his head slightly away from her to hide his smile, happy that someone else had put the now irritating woman in her place.

"People, we're not here to bicker," Reece announced with a quick wink at Jo. "Let's take our places." They did so with Willoughby standing near Mike and Lucas.

Henry pointed to one of the graffiti-covered concrete posts at the other end. "You came from behind there just as I walked onto the platform."

Lewis walked quickly over and positioned himself behind the post. Lucas - doing his best to channel Cecille B. DeMille - called out the date, time, and 'Morgan-Farber Crime Re-enactment' - begin!" Lewis emerged from behind the post and recited the words he'd reportedly uttered that winter day in early 2015.

"I was happy to receive your call, Henry. You know ... I was like you once. Perhaps not quite as dapper, but ... a decent man. My first death - " He stopped abruptly and looked incredulously at Henry.

"First death? What the hell does THAT mean?" Lewis demanded. Jo fumed at the sight of Willoughby's smug 'I-told-you-so' expression.

Henry bowed his head slightly and replied, "You're the one who wanted to know what happened that day. These were your very words," he informed him.

"Why was he just now given this transcript?" Willoughby demanded, interrupting. "To shock him?"

"Yes!" Henry replied before Jo did this time. "To shock him into remembering this and every other hurtful thing he's ever done." Henry felt a twinge of guilt at the pained look on the other Immortal's face. Briefly, he wondered if he was misjudging him. No, he reminded himself. Adam knew how to con people, to manipulate them. "Well? Do we proceed?" Henry asked him.

"No, this is ridiculous!" Willoughby shouted.

"Yes," Lewis replied, ignoring her. "We'll ... continue." He raised the paper in his hand up again and picked up where he'd left off.

Lucas had previously been instructed not to hit the pause button so the tape had kept rolling. So far, this was turning out to be better than any of his short films. Talking about first deaths - Wow!

"My first death ... also came while trying to save the life of another. Alas, I failed." Both men had circled each other like roosters in a barnyard before battle. Lewis now stood near Reece, facing Henry. Henry now stood in front of the concrete post from where Lewis had emerged.

"So, take a good look, Henry. This is what a decent man looks like after 2,000 years." He didn't extend his arms in the grandiose fashion as he had originally. His left arm hung loosely by his side and his right arm stiffened while still holding his copy of the transcript. How absurd! Lewis thought to himself. He recoiled at those words but fought against making another outburst. Apparently, Morgan was not his friend and had never been. He was trying to make a laughing stock of him for some reason. Insinuating that he'd ever said anything so ridiculous as this in his life!

Henry stood, silently glaring at Lewis.

Lewis rubbed his free hand across his mouth and dropped it, continuing.

"Oh, you're not feeling chatty today?" He could hear the taunting in those words. Why? Why would he have felt the need to taunt Morgan?

"Oh, I don't blame you. You're here to kill me. You're not the first to try (Lewis laughed). Maybe you'll (Lewis laughed) be the last." Lewis continued to laugh. "Sorry, sorry. But this ... " His shoulders shook as he laughed, bending over slightly from the waist, then straightening back up. "Morgan, this isn't going to help me regain my memory. It's beyond shocking; it's preposterous!" He continued laughing and in a condescending tone, said, "My first death. You're here to kill me." His laughter suddenly caught in his throat and a faraway look came into his eyes as they widened in horror.

Image after image began to overwhelm his senses. One of him looking down at a man's hand plunging a large, sharp knife into his stomach. Another image of the prongs of a pitchfork being plunged into his chest by a frightened man dressed as a farmer. And one of him fighting unsuccessfully against being thrown out of a basket miles above the earth; the large, brightly-colored balloon of gold and purple, growing smaller and smaller as he plummeted screaming toward the ground rapidly rising up to meet him.

Henry slowly pulled a rubber replica of the Roman dagger out of his inside coat pocket and held it as he did before, by the handle, with the tip of the blade pointed straight up.

"No," Lewis whispered. "No." The image of the hand plunging what looked like the weapon Henry held, into his stomach overwhelmed him again. "No. There, there has to be some kind of mistake."

"No mistake," Henry told him, going off script and lowering the fake weapon. "It would seem that something has finally shocked you into some remembrances." He sighed and returned to the 'script' and tossed the rubber dagger at Lewis' feet. "Game's over. Bye, Adam." He strode away just as he had before.

Lewis looked down at the dagger and then at Henry. The sight of Henry retreating from him had a strange familiarity to it.

 _"That's it? You can't not_ playyy _, Henry!"_

The angry, taunting voice that had shouted at Henry as he'd walked away ... had been his own. "What now, Morgan?" Lewis asked, frantically panting.

"Read your next line, Adam," Henry quietly told him. His voice echoed across the platform, easily heard by all, including Lewis, because they were watching in awed silence.

Lewis held the paper up and saw that the next line was what had already blared across his mind. Henry stopped walking.

"Read it!" Henry shouted, startling the others; his voice echoing angrily across the platform.

Lewis swallowed, blinking rapidly. "Y-you can't - not - play, Henry!" He automatically made the motion of pulling something out of his pocket and holding it up. In slow motion, he saw himself doing the same thing but with a determined, angry look on his face. The object in his hands was a small, black-and-white photo of what or whom, he did not know. But his memories had received enough of a shock so far that they now avalanched in front of him.

Morgan wasn't his friend. Nobody here meant him any good, least of all, Willoughby. Rhonda Demarest was probably just a pretty little liar, he scoffed to himself. As much a pawn of Willoughby's as he apparently was. An anger began to build inside him like an incendiary device unleashed onto dry brush. An anger so old and fiery that he could taste the ashes, see his long ago broken dreams. His next utterance, full of impatient contempt, held no hesitation.

"Do I have to recount dear, sweet Abigail's final, agonizing moments?" Henry continued to walk away from him.

"Have you seen this?" Lewis asked, holding up the imaginary photo. "She had it on her when she died." Died. Died. She had it ... on her ... A woman. An ... older woman with greying blonde hair. Wearing lipstick and rouge too bright red to flatter her lost looks anymore.

A ... nurse. He saw her smiling and encouraging as he lay helpless and broken in a hospital. Later on, frightened and backing away from his hissed threats. Then, the both of them in a car. She, driving and still frightened, he beside her in the passenger seat happy and anxious. Then, terror as the car plunged down the side of the road, coming to a loud, crashing halt at the bottom of a ravine and blackness.

The images snapped away from him and he saw Henry glaring hatefully at him from where he stood several feet away.

"Starting to remember some of the hurt and pain you've caused others? The pain you caused when you took my Abigail away from me?" Henry snarled at him and turned around. "Keep going, Adam." Henry continued to stride away from him but more slowly than before as if each step caused him pain. They did. Having found out some time ago from Adam what had happened to his Abigail, remembering it weighed down painfully on him again.

Lewis closed his eyes and inhaled several times, cringing at another image of him unholstering a weapon from his inside coat pocket, pointing it straight up, and cocking the hammer back for firing.

"I can make you play, Henry!" Lewis shouted. The words jumped out of him, for it was as if the images had taken on a life their own, commanding him to repeat forgotten words and actions along with the emotions he'd felt that day: anger, frustration, and ... curiosity. He'd had a definite reason for wanting to meet with the man there. What was it again? The memory of a loud gunshot shook him out of the image and he realized that he'd improvised by shouting "Bang!"

Unlike during their original encounter, Henry didn't whirl around in surprise. This time he slowly turned around to face the man he knew as Adam. He walked slowly back to close the distance between them, stopping halfway on the platform almost directly in front of an increasingly frantic-looking Jo.

She recalled when she'd heard that first shot after having lost track of Henry when he'd offboarded the subway car. The shot had helped lead her to this same spot. Now she knew what had happened in between the time she'd heard the shot and when she'd arrived there. She now knew who the muffled but angry-sounding voices had belonged to and what was at the heart of their dispute.

Lucas now understood the significance of his having stolen the dagger from Evidence Lockup and hiding it under paperwork on Henry's desk for him to find. He continued to tape the action unfolding in front of them all but wondered what would have happened if he had not stolen the weapon and not passed it on to him. It pained him to know that at the time, his boss was going through such hell at the hands of this Adam guy all alone. _'We got your back this time, Big Guy. You're not alone anymore.'_

As Henry walked slowly back toward him, Lewis saw once again, a very angry Henry quickly advancing toward him and shouting.

 _"You have my gun?! Was **this** ... the point of your game? To test a theory? Does the gun work? Does the dagger work? Can we die? Do you think ... I'm afraid of death?!"_

 _'Not afraid of death.'_ Jo coincidentally thought to herself. _'He can't die. At least, not permanently. That's why he has no sense of self-preservation.'_

Both Mike and Reece were struggling with believing what they were hearing and seeing and rejecting it all as the sad rantings of two men caught up in their fantasies. The fact that their trusted ME was one of the two men, broke their hearts.

Lucas carefully shifted a couple of paces to his left in order to keep the faces of the two men in clear view. He was glad that no real weapons were held by either man.

Lewis' anger and frustration gave way to realization. He stared at Henry only a few feet away from him now. He blinked several times as he said, "But you were. You were afraid of anyone finding out your secret. Your secret of immortality. Especially Det. Martinez." Lewis' brow knitted as he lowered his eyes then looked back up at Henry. "Because she's special to you," he added with just a trace of a smile.

Henry's demand that Jo be left alone coincided with the image of a very angry Henry demanding that he stay away from her. "I told you then and I'm telling you now, Adam. You stay away from her or so help me, you'll wish that you'd never met me."

Lewis inhaled deeply and exhaled. "I mean her no harm, Henry, believe me."

"Just as you meant Abigail no harm?!" Henry shouted. "She's dead because of you!" He continued yelling at him while Lewis closed his eyes and slowly shook his head from side to side. "She wrote a letter," he told him in a quieter tone. "A letter that she never got the chance to mail," he hissed in anger again, his voice beginning to shudder. "She was coming back to us. Wanted us to be a ... a proper family again." He struggled to maintain his composure but the tears were fighting against him.

"Do you have any idea what you took from me that day? All because of your selfish need to find another Immortal so that you could sit and trade war wounds with them."

"I'm sorry. I meant her no harm!"

"You frightened her to the point that she felt it was necessary to take her own life."

"I tried to save her! Revived her with CPR."

"Damn you! If you had just left her alone, she wouldn't have felt the need to ... to kill herself to protect me." The tears had won the battle and flowed freely down his cheeks. He brushed them away with both hands and cleared his throat. "If you suddenly sprouted gossamer wings and grew a halo and drifted up into the heavens, I would still never forgive you, Adam." Henry fumed, blinking back more tears. "Never."

"That ... that wasn't me, Henry," Lewis told him. "That was someone else. This ... Adam that you keep insisting upon calling me. The man that I am now would never seek to harm anyone. Please believe me," he pleaded.

"And why should I believe anything you say? Cunning, deceitful, vindictive, manipulative, murderous. Those are the only things you've ever shown me. You somehow got past Abraham and his shotgun and stole my gun right out from under our noses. Then you shot me in the chest with it to see if I would die permanently. You didn't want your dagger returned to you so that you could commit suicide and go on to a permanent rest. It was all to test a theory - "

Lewis quietly interrupted him. "Yes. I remember now. Could we really die if killed again with the same weapon responsible for our first deaths? But, luckily, I was wrong." He looked up hopefully at Henry. "You're still alive."

"No thanks to you," Henry snapped at him. "As I lay bleeding to death in this very spot, you stood over me gloating. Knowing that Jo had heard the second shot, as well, and you wanted her to find me; to see me die or die and disappear. It mattered not to you. You just wanted to play out the end of another of your sick little games," he told him through clenched teeth.

"Like I told you, I'm not that man anymore. But ... it was then that you produced that syringe from out of nowhere and plunged it into my brainstem."

"Unlike you, I am not a killer. I'm a doctor. And I'd decided on a way to incapacitate you for a long time, I'd hoped."

"Very ... clever, actually. Can't say as I blame you, either."

Lucas had continued recording but had grown increasingly more uncomfortable with the darkness of their conversation.

Reece had her hand on her weapon and had made eye contact with both of her detectives to do the same. It was quite clear that whatever had happened between the two men before could once again escalate into the same kind of violence or worse. She was more concerned with keeping the peace than trying to believe or even comprehend what they were discussing.

Mike kept his eyes trained on the two men, his hand on his weapon. He simply refused to allow any of this immortality stuff to take up residence in his mind. No such thing, he told himself. These guys are either nuts or playing us all for fools.

Jo knew that she had played a small part in their interaction that day. To find out that Henry had threatened the other man in an effort to protect her made her feel ... special. Maybe not as special as his Abigail. They had obviously been deeply in love with each other. But she now realized something about that day.

"You must have died and ... disappeared by the time I reached this spot," she said. Both men snatched their heads in her direction.

"The two gunshots and the sound of angry voices had led me here," she explained. "That's why I only found your pocket watch and that old photo of you and Abigail and ... and your baby," she said in wonder. Baby Abe. What a thing.

The two men slowly returned their attention to each other. "Whatever manner of man I was then," Lewis told Henry, "I swear that I am not the same man now."

"And that's just too bad." Willoughby's voice drifted across the platform to them.

Surprised, both Henry and Lewis now faced the female doctor. Mike had remained close to Lucas when he'd shifted a little to his left, leaving Willoughby a little distance from them to their right. Therefore, no one had noticed her retrieve a derringer hidden up her sleeve. She palmed it as she moved closer to the two men, her gaze fixed on Lewis.

Jo and Mike warned Willoughby to move away from the two men but she ignored them, drawing ever closer.

"It's a shame you're not the same man, Adam," she told him. "I was hoping that this silly stage play would bring you back to your senses; back to being the real you." She ignored Reece's orders to back away but she stopped advancing. "As I told you before, you're of no use to me like this. Like this nice little weakling, Henry Morgan, who prefers the companionship of weak mortals over his own kind."

"Back away, Dr. Willoughby," Reece warned her.

Something in Willoughby's hand glinted under the low light as she raised her arm and pointed it at Henry. He recognized it as one of Remington's double-barrelled versions of a derringer they'd began manufacturing in 1866. He recognized it because he'd been shot (but not killed) in 1868 and robbed of his medical bag for the opiates inside of it.

"Drop the gun!" Reece ordered her, drawing her own weapon, as did Jo and Mike. The three of them trained their guns on her as Reece ordered her once more to drop it.

Gunshot wound? Not the worst way to go, Henry decided, but his death and disappearance would be recorded. Something he'd rather not have to happen.

"This is really not the way to handle things, Dr. Willoughby," Henry said, keeping his voice calm and quiet. "Killing me won't solve any problems you might have."

"You're probably right, Dr. Morgan," Willoughby, said, seeming to agree with him. "But it just might." She pulled the trigger and things seemed to happen in slow motion for everyone. Lewis jumped in front of Henry and the bullet hit him in the upper chest. He fell backward against Henry, who caught him and gently lowered him to the platform. The wound was fatal; Henry could see that and Lewis also knew it, having suffered many deaths from just such a wound.

"Call Abraham!" Henry called out to them as he removed his scarf and wadded it up, pressing it against Lewis' profusely bleeding chest.

"Shouldn't we call 911?" Mike asked, confused.

"No," Lucas replied. "Abe will know what to do." He stopped recording and slung the camcorder over his shoulder by the strap. He pulled out his cell phone and called Abe.

"Wha - call Abe?" Mike didn't know what to think. Had everyone gone batty? This man was bleeding badly and needed an ambulance, not an antique shop owner.

"Yes," Jo replied as she cuffed an unconscious Willoughby after she'd tackled her. "Henry's right. Abe will know what to do," she added.

"Abe," Reece repeated, confused.

"Yes," Jo, Henry, and Lucas all replied at once.

"He's already at the East River," Lucas informed Henry as he and the others drew closer to Lewis where he lay.

"The East River?" Mike asked. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What for?"

"To pick up Dr. Farber after he ... " Reece's voice trailed off as realization swept over her face and she slowly turned her head to meet Henry's gaze. He dipped his head slightly, not wanting to be too disrespectful to the dying man.

Since Jo had been closer to Willoughby than either Reece or Mike, she had tackled her a split second after Lewis had jumped in front of Henry and taken the bullet. She kicked herself for not having been quick enough and for having taken her attention off of the woman. While cuffing Willoughby, Jo watched Henry attempt to render aid to Lewis but she'd seen enough gsw's to know that this one was fatal.

"H-Henry ... "

"Don't. Don't try to talk, Adam." Henry sighed. "Lewis." He sighed again. "You know that it wasn't necessary to try to save me, though."

"I'm not ... the same man ... Henry," Lewis managed to get out before he exhaled his last breath, eyes open. In the next instance, his body vanished in a flash of brilliantly white light.

Reece and Jo gasped at the same time. Lucas stared in rapt wonder at the spot where Lewis had bled out. Nothing remained of him. Henry stuffed his scarf into his coat pocket even though it no longer had any blood stains on it. He wasn't comfortable wearing it anymore.

Willoughby came to, groaning, and Mike and Jo helped her back up to her feet. There was a big red bruise where the side of her forehead had violently met the concrete platform when Jo had tackled her. She kept her eyes closed and seemed no longer interested in anyone around her.

"Quickly," Henry told them. "We have to get down to the river and help Abraham with Lewis." They all began to leave with the East River as their destination. Except for Mike, that is.

"Right," Mike said. He continued to stare at the spot where Lewis had died and vanished. "The River." He motioned toward the spot as he continued to stare at it and said, "Dead guy vanishing. Just ... gone." He shook his head and finally began to leave when he allowed Reece to turn him around and lead him out. He looked at Reece as if begging her to help him make sense of everything. "Just ... gone," he repeated. Reece nodded, patting his arm as she walked alongside him.


	11. Adam Wakes Up Ch 11

_"Quickly," Henry told them. "We have to get down to the river and help Abraham with Lewis."_

vvvv

Katherine Willoughby, still in a mostly unresponsive state - more to her own choosing - was handed off to two Transit Authority uni's with instructions to transport her ASAP to the nearest hospital's ER, then down to the 11th to be held for questioning. Reece promised to check back later with them. The small group then rushed to the spot near the East River where Henry had been arrested many times in the past; and each of his colleagues now understood why.

Mike, Reece, and Lucas rolled up in one car and Jo and Henry in another. The cars came to an abrupt halt where Abe was parked and they immediately piled out, Henry leading the way. Still unsure of Lewis' sincerity about being a changed man, his anxiety level was raised a bit to see him damp, shivering, and bewildered looking in the back seat of Abe's car.

"Took you long enough," Abe greeted them impatiently. "Was all I could do to keep him from bolting."

"Sorry, Abraham," Henry told him. "Even with sirens, this is still New York City traffic." Abe nodded, shrugging.

"He seems to have calmed down a bit, though," Abe told him. Looking over his shoulder at the others with their eyes as big as saucers and their mouths agape to see an alive, breathing Lewis Farber, he leaned in toward Henry and whispered, "It's always hardest the first time."

Henry understood. It was hardest on anyone the first time seeing a person die, vanish, and turn up alive and well somewhere else. Worst magic trick an ordinary man would be made to endure, Henry thought. Although he was sure that others might think it was 'cool' like Lucas; or that it was a blessing like Jo. He didn't know why he felt she would characterize his condition as such but he was sure that she would have something good to say about it. Like Father Sullivan had. Like Abigail had.

"What do we do with him?" Abe whispered to Henry, indicating Lewis in the back seat of the car.

"We ... tend to him, I suppose," Henry replied uncertainly. "What other choice do we have?" he asked in response to Abe's frown of skepticism and surprise. "Can't just leave him to his own devices after so soon regaining, I believe, his full memory."

"What? Take him home and tuck him in bed?!" Abe asked, gruffing it out in a louder whisper.

"Who better to take care of him right now?" Henry countered.

"So you trust this guy now?" Abe asked, frowning. When Henry didn't immediately reply, he let out an exasperated, "Da-aad!"

"Abraham!" Henry warned him, placing his hand on his shoulder and bracing himself for the reactions of the others.

"Wha - did I hear right?" Mike asked, staring and blinking at the two men. "You're ... you're _his_ Dad?" Henry inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled, reluctantly nodding his head. Not out of shame but out of concern for the man whose sensibilities had already been stretched beyond normal limits when he'd witnessed Lewis' death and disappearance.

"That - is - " Reece began before being cut off by Lucas.

" - sooooo cool!" Lucas finished for her, grinning wildly. "Really, really cool!"

"I was _**going**_ to say ... well, actually, I don't know what to say." She blinked her eyes rapidly and shook her head as the impact of the truth of their father-son relationship hit her. Early in the NYPD's dealings with Dr. Morgan, she'd wondered if the two men weren't actually a secretly-married couple. _'Will wonders never cease,'_ she marveled to herself.

Jo just smiled at the two of them and winked at Abe, who smilingly shrugged.

Mike was still in mini-meltdown mode. He was doing his best to keep up with this fast-moving, ever-arcing detour from the reality he'd always known.

"You okay, Mike?" Reece asked. She realized that he was having a harder time than even she was, getting a mental grasp on things.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm ... I'm gettin' there," he replied breathlessly. His and everyone else's attention once again turned to Lewis.

Acutely aware of the multiple sets of curious eyes focused upon him, he rolled down the car window and rather timidly said, "Hello, again."

vvvv

Dr. Katherine Willoughby lay with her eyes closed but hardly resting in a hospital bed in Cubicle 17 of New York Hospital's ER. She was hooked up to an IV unit that pumped pain medication into her through a vein on the back of her left hand. A nurse had just left her bedside after wrapping a blood pressure cuff around her upper left arm which periodically tightened and slowly loosened, feeding the results of her varying blood pressure levels onto the connected machine's display. She fingered the bandage on the side of her head over her left eye and was reminded of the woman responsible for giving her that injury: Det. Jo Martinez. She then rubbed her wrist that was cuffed to the railing on the left side of her bed and was reminded of the other woman responsible for ordering her to be arrested: Lt. Joanna Reece. Willoughby mentally spat at the thought of them while turning the events that had occurred earlier that day on the abandoned subway platform over and over in her mind.

Everything had gone all wrong, all wrong because of him: Henry Morgan. Adam's nearly 30-year obsession with him had prevented her, she felt, from getting Adam to reach his full potential as an Immortal; an Invincible Man. Up until he'd found the ME, Adam was the only one of his kind that she'd ever come across. Together they could have ruled the world. Or one big, significant corner of it with their growing number of loyal minions. Without Adam, she feared the entire network of ne'er-do-wells would collapse. And after all of her hard work convincing those same misguided souls to follow him and do whatever he bid them to with the promise of immortality dangled like a carrot before each of them. Of course, it was an empty promise that neither she nor Adam could ever fulfill but they needn't have known that. If only he had listened to her and abandoned seeking a relationship with Morgan, who had continually rebuffed him. Especially after he'd learned the real circumstances surrounding Abigail's death and Adam's part in it back in 1985.

In Willoughby's own twisted mind, an alive Abigail would have served them both better as leverage to be used against Morgan. As long as her life hung in the balance, then, and only then, would Morgan have agreed to any sort of relationship with Adam since that's what Adam wanted. And she had to admit that it would have been a bit more fun to have two Immortals under her control. But she believed that Adam was really the better specimen. He had lived so much longer than Morgan; endured so much more hardship, pain, and loss than the junior Immortal had. An unbearably heavy amount of rage, disdain, cynicism, and hopelessness had whittled his tender emotions down to almost nothing. Almost. She mentally scoffed at learning of his promise to Morgan not to harm a hair on his son's, Abraham's, head because of what the Nazis had put both of them through while at Auschwitz in the 1940's. That bit of humanity peaking out of his soul after so many years had troubled her. However, his confrontation with Morgan that fateful day on the abandoned subway platform when he'd shot him with his own weapon had restored her faith in his maniacal dark side. But Morgan had surprised them both when he'd immobilized Adam by jabbing that empty syringe into his brain stem. Neither she nor Adam had expected the usually unaggressive Immortal to be so cunning and resourceful. That unexpected little move of his had set both of them back for months.

Adam had ignored her repeated warnings that it was useless to involve the other Immortal in their lives. She believed that Morgan would never understand what she and Adam were trying to build on this rotten earth. And his name, Adam. A name that she'd proudly bestowed upon him and one which he'd gladly and proudly embraced for, most likely, he had been "here since the beginning". The demented female doctor had not had as much fun manipulating anyone's mind since the Zodiac killer who'd terrorized Northern California in the late 1960's to early 1970's. Willoughby took great pride in the fact that his reign of terror was usually compared to that of Jack the Ripper's in 1880's London. And, like the Ripper, her Zodiac killer's identity remained a mystery to this day.

Her own reign of terror, of sorts, had begun at the age of eight in 1924 during yet another brutal beating from her abusive, puritanical stepfather while her mother watched but did nothing to help her. He had repeatedly justified the beatings as a way to "release the hold of evil on the cursed child".

The anger had built up inside over time and had finally burst from her in the form of her manipulating the stepfather's mind into murdering her mother and then himself. To outsiders, it looked as though her stepfather had strangled her mother and then, siezed by grief, taken his own life by plunging a butcher knife into his heart. It was the perfect crime. No one ever suspected that an innocent-looking eight-year-old girl was actually behind it.

The "gift" of this mind control ability had at first both surprised and frightened her. Gradually, she began to take great satisfaction in it. The gift could be used against almost anyone she chose although some were easier to control than others. And there were a great many that she could not - like Martinez, Reece, or Morgan - no matter how hard she tried. It seemed that sane individuals with a strong sense of worth could resist any type of control she attempted to exert over them. Only the weak-minded, the weak-hearted, the mentally and emotionally unstable ones were receptive to her control.

Even so, over the next few years, she realized that her "gift" also allowed her to claim the remaining years of her victims' lives if they died while under her control and add those years to her own lifespan. The added years, however, had a strange effect on her aging in that it slowed it down considerably. As a result, she began to find it necessary to move every seven or eight years, change her identity, and sometimes her profession. By the time she met Adam in 1998, her gift had lost most of its luster. Boredom had set in to the extent that she either entertained herself by simply reading the minds of others or randomly controlling them to end their lives just for the fun of claiming the remainder of whatever years they had left.

He'd been working as a cab driver and had picked her up more than once from a behavioral health clinic she worked at on the city's lower east side. His out-dated style of clothing with its somber colors and the black, leather gloves had piqued her curiosity. He wasn't very talkative but still managed to demonstrate that he possessed extensive knowledge of many things. A growing curiosity gradually overtook her boredom with life and she decided to read his mind, just for the fun of it. What she discovered was something extraordinary. His thoughts, his memories had taken her back centuries before her long-ago birth year of 1916. From that moment on, she had needled her way into his mind and taken up residence there. It hadn't been as easy to manipulate him like she had the others. But he was so much more interesting than anyone else she had ever met!

Willoughby had pushed and prodded until his darker emotions had risen to the fore, flourishing into ever-increasing mayhem under her unique tutelage. Something else unexpected began to evolve between the two differently-typed Immortals. Long-forgotten, pent-up emotions had begun to stir inside her. Something akin to ... love ... ? At least, a semblance of it since she had never experienced it herself; not even with her own mother. Perhaps with her real father, who had died suddenly when she was barely two years old. Faint memories of strong, male hands embracing her, of loving kisses planted gently on her forehead, of being cuddled against the scratchy stiffness of a wool suit. Was that her father? The memories were faint but had soothed her tired brain and fed her longings more than once when she'd thought it was best to throw in the towel and seek a permanent end to her long, unfulfilled life. But being close to Adam ... those long-ago feelings had gradually bloomed once again, clouding her judgment where he was concerned. He was more ... special to her. She'd given him more free rein than anyone else even though she knew it was dangerous. It was dangerous for her to have felt these things ... to feel these things for him.

When they'd first met, he still had more than 15 years ahead of him in his quest to find the other Immortal, Henry Morgan. It might have taken him longer if she hadn't introduced him to the new technology of computers and social media. But the closer he'd come to finding the man, the more she'd dreaded what would happen when he did. Her worst fears were realized earlier that day and possibly even earlier, when Adam had survived his locked-in condition believing that he actually was Lewis Farber. A man now possessing an surprisingly sound mind who bore no ill will toward anyone anymore. Exactly the kind of mind she had never been able to control. He was a good man now. Just like Morgan. Adam was gone; for all intents and purposes - dead.

Willoughby opened her eyes when she heard the swoosh of the curtain and someone entering the small cubby-hole of a room. It was a young doctor in grayish-blue scrubs holding a clipboard in one of his hands. She briefly saw a uniformed officer standing guard in the hallway on the other side of the curtain. The doctor approached with a polite greeting and friendly smile. Whatever it was he was telling her was inconsequential. She had to plan her escape. Her work in mind control must continue, she reasoned. And prison had never held any fascination for her other than farming various parolees and escapees for potential minions for Adam and her. But Adam now believed he was Lewis Farber so he was of no use to her anymore. Morgan would never do, either. She had never been able to penetrate his mind because he was too much of boy scout. He still chose to walk with the mortals as if he were one of them. As if he could once again become one of them. Another lost soul had to be found. For right now, though, this young doctor who was battling a secret opioid addiction and on the verge of losing his job would have to do.

vvvv

Two weeks later ...

Despite Henry's and Abe's generous offer of hosting him at their place until he felt he could cope more with the weight of his memories, Lewis had insisted that he would be fine on his own. He had, however, visited the two men a few times over those two weeks as Henry and he had pooled their information with each other in an attempt to answer some mutual, burning questions. But one of the most obvious questions that had come up was why hadn't he been arrested for any of his past aggressions?

Across town in the 11th Precinct, Lt. Reece was agonizing over that same question. Arrest Farber, charge him with God only knows how many crimes stretching back to … God only knows when! Crimes that Lewis claimed had been committed when the persona of Adam had control of him. She closed her eyes and sighed, her head bowed, her hand on her forehead. Mike's voice broke into her harried thoughts and she looked up at him.

"I vote we let the guy go," he said, shaking his head.

"Just … let him waltz off into the sunset after all the damage he's done to Henry and his late wife and all those other people he named?" Reece asked, incredulous. However, she had to admit that there were no clear cut answers in this extraordinary instance. An Immortal man who most likely could never successfully be prosecuted or kept imprisoned. Execution would never work because he'd always come back to life. Execute him over and over? For how long? Right, she told herself, imagining a newly-formed Execute and Retrieval Squad. "This decision is way above my pay grade," she added, wearily.

"From what he told us, all those people were murderers themselves," Mike said. "Except for Henry's wife, Abigail; but he didn't actually kill her," he quickly pointed out.

"Mike, he kidnapped her," Jo recounted to him. "Frightened her into protecting Belinda Smoot from him and then drove her to suicide when she thought she had to protect Henry and Abe from him."

"When he was _Adam_ ," Mike reminded her. "Or - when Adam was in control." He sighed and added, "Look, Jo, I'm no psychiatrist and I don't pretend to understand one tenth of any of that kind of stuff. But I have seen more than one cold-blooded killer. They have no soul. Their eyes are empty of any humanity. No soul. No remorse. This guy, Farber, is either the best I've ever seen at lying or he's the real deal. Inside, he's not Adam anymore. Besides," he offered, "we train the spotlight on him and we run the risk of exposing Henry's secret. And I care more about Henry." He settled back in his chair and looked at Reece again. "I say we cut Farber loose."

Jo carefully considered Mike's words. She wasn't sure how to proceed with any charges against Farber, either. But he was a confessed criminal. Surely, the NYPD wasn't going to just let him go on his merry way because he had allegedly committed all those crimes when he was Adam but was 'nice' now as Lewis Farber. She wasn't a psychiatrist or psychologist, either, but she wasn't altogether sure if he was telling the truth about all of that split personality stuff.

"How would we even do this?" Mike asked, raising his voice in frustration. "Do you wanna try to explain all of this, any of this to the DA?" When both women frowned but failed to reply, he nodded. "We let him go," he repeated. "He's a professed vigilante but he did us a favor taking all of those freaks out of circulation. Some we suspected and a lot of others that we didn't even know about. Raj Patel and Richard Smight were responsible for more than 15 murders between them. We don't know how many because the body count is still rising." He sighed, grimly viewing their options.

"I say we allow the guy to quietly leave town." He looked up at Jo and Reece. "Pronto."

"In other words, we dump him off into someone else's jurisdiction?" Reece asked. That was something she couldn't allow to have happen. "No one is above the law, Detective. We bring him in and let the DA do their thing," she stated grimly. "At the end of the day, we're sworn to uphold the law. He broke it - many, many times - so it's our job to do our part and arrest him."

"What's that going to mean for Henry? Or Abe, for that matter?" Jo asked, worried. Farber under the spotlight would inevitably mean exposure for Henry and Abe. How in the world would they be able to cope with things if the shroud of mystery surrounding the two men, especially Henry, was snatched away completely? If it became necessary for them to flee their lives in New York and hide somewhere else, she wasn't sure if following them would be helpful. It could mean never seeing either of them again and that was totally unacceptable to her. "They haven't done anything. Heck, he even victimized Henry for several months when he stalked him a couple of years ago."

"I know, Detective," Reece replied, sighing and closing her eyes. She opened them and looked from one to the other of them and said, "Up until the day of that re-enactment, I was willing to cover up as much as possible in order to deflect attention away from Dr. Morgan. Things got … weird real quick," she said with bugged eyes and shake of her head. "But, frankly, letting a confessed criminal go free versus the truth about the doctor's long life being exposed?" She looked apologetically at Jo. "I have to go for us doing our job." She turned her attention to Mike. "We're sworn to uphold the law, Detectives. As much as it pains me to do so, Dr. Farber should be taken into custody. His claim of having committed the crimes while controlled by another personality are of no consequence. The wheels of justice must still turn."

She began to touch the items on her desk in an unconscious but characteristically familiar manner that signaled the meeting was over. Both detectives stood up and prepared to leave her office.

"Okay, uh, we'll go pick him up now," Mike said, gloom clouding his face.

"Doesn't have to be now, Detective," Reece slowly replied, busying herself with the contents of an open file.

Jo and Mike frowned at each other and looked back at their superior. "When?" Jo asked.

Reece shrugged, raising her eyebrows. "Depends on how soon we can build a case against him." She closed the file and her eyes met theirs again. "All of that takes time. Sometimes justice takes years; decades. We don't want a rush to judgment, now do we?"

With a growing realization and fighting against their own smiles, they nodded in agreement and exited her office.

"So, whaddaya think?" Mike asked Jo as they stood near their respective desks.

"That it's not even lunch time and I need a drink," she replied.

Mike totally agreed with her but they both knew that that was not permitted until they were off duty. "Well ... how 'bout joining me in a coffee instead? My treat." She smiled and nodded and they left the precinct for a much-needed break. Any kind of break.

vvvv

wiki/Zodiac_Killer

wiki/Jack_the_Ripper


	12. Adam Wakes Up Ch 12

_Adam now believed he was Lewis Farber so Willoughby felt that he was no longer of any use to her. And she had never been able to penetrate Morgan's mind because he was too nice and still chose to walk with the mortals. No. Another lost soul had to be found; and this young doctor attending her, Nolan Gray, and the troubled patrolman guarding her, would both do nicely._

vvvv

 _Two weeks earlier, after the re-enactment ..._

 _Katherine Willoughby smiled to herself at how easily she'd manipulated the young physician, Dr. Nolan Gray, into ordering X-Rays for her and conveniently forgetting about her, handing her the perfect opportunity to escape from police custody and the hospital. Most surprising, though, was the patrolman assigned to guard her in that he was so upset with his superior, whom he suspected of having an affair with his wife, that he had been so easily convinced to turn a blind eye to her as well, allowing her to make her getaway. It had also been necessary for her to peer into the minds of others she met along the way in order to easily pass from point to point and slip through the NYPD's likely dragnet for her._

 _The demented woman's usual modus operandi would have been to leave one or more dead bodies behind (and pad her lifespan with a few more years) but because the hospital was such a crowded, public place, she'd felt it best to merely leave as quickly and as inconspicuously as possible. The patrolman, Dr. Gray, and a few necessary others would have a lot of explaining to do, she realized, chuckling to herself. Probably lose their jobs. Lost opportunities to add them all to Adam's minions. Pity._

 _But she had to admit that it was going to be harder to leave her profession behind. During those years with Adam, she'd grown accustomed to the title "Doctor" and the prestige associated with it. An office. Respect from her peers and patients. Inclusion in the upper-tier of society's medical hierarchy. It wouldn't do, though, for her to re-emerge somewhere else in her favorite disguise as a psychologist. So it was back to caregiving or ... maybe she would try being an Au Pair again. After all, it had been more than 50 years since she'd attended to the last of the five children of Liechtenstein's late royal couple, Prince Franz Joseph II and his wife, Countess Georgina. She'd left with a clean record. There should be no problem convincing the current royals and anyone else that she was following in the footsteps of her dear, departed grandmother, Ronja Gessner. Herself, actually._

 _Two months into Adam's eight-month incapacitation, she'd begun planning her escape by gathering the necessary documentation for a quick departure from America. The German-speaking principality of Liechtenstein was high on her list of locations to flee to. A small dot on the map between Austria and Switzerland, it was known for its classic architecture, beautiful mountain scenery, ski resorts, and quaint alpine villages. A perfect place to hide first as one of many tourists then as a trusted staffmember of the royal household. Again. And who knows? Perhaps after another 50 to a 100 years of additional pain and loss, Adam would resurface from out of Lewis' pathetic little mortal-loving mind and the two of them could resume their lives together._

 _Twenty-five miles outside of Altenrhein Airport in Liechtenstein, the Uber driver pulled up in front of the Hotel Schlosswald and she exited the vehicle. She stood for a moment, taking in the view of the hotel's facade. It was a most welcome sight to the travel-weary, demented, female fugitive. Willoughby closed her eyes and rubbed her eyelids. For the first time ever, she realized that this latest round of mind manipulations had taken their toll on her. Instead of getting that familiar burst of energy from her victims' stolen years, she felt utterly drained both mentally and physically. As if the process had reversed itself on her. Impossible, she thought. Just need a little rest._

 _Once checked in and finally alone in her room, she'd lain across the bed to check its comfort level and closed her eyes. A shower would be nice, she thought, before getting a bite to eat. As she undressed, she did so with her eyes barely open. Such uncharacteristic exhaustion! Trying hard to shake it off, she stepped into the shower and reached for the nearly useless tiny cake of soap found in most American hotels. She lathered up her washcloth and looked forward to an invigorating shower. Instead, her strength began to wane the longer the water hit her. She ended the shower after only a few minutes and stepped out to dry herself off. The effort was taking more out of her than the shower had. She managed to drag herself back into the room and fell onto the bed, inching herself up so that her head rested on the pillows but it didn't help alleviate the great fatigue that had suddenly overtaken her._

 _Now only able to take in short, shallow breaths, she managed to turn over onto her back. As she stared at the ceiling, she realized that her life force was draining out of her and at an alarming rate. It was as if she were an uncorked bottle turned upside down and all the life-giving fluids were rushing out of her._

 _"No, this can't be happening," she whimpered. "Not ... not death. Not for me. I live! I live forever!" Didn't she? It wasn't fair. Why did Adam and Morgan get to keep living? Hadn't she been given a similar gift of extraordinarily long life? Wasn't she one of the chosen ones? Her eyes popped open as a thought hit her. What if she promised not to harm anyone else ever again?_

 _The question left her lips in a desperate, gravelly rasp directed at her unnamed, unknown benefactor who apparently was choosing to ignore it. And with each passing moment, her panic level rose as the faces of her victims crowded into her consciousness, confronting, cursing, and condemning her. Her breaths came in short, raspy pants now as a dark, swirling vortex sucked her down into it. She wasn't going to be spared, she realized. Heart-pounding fear eclipsed her panic and she hurled curses back at the faces of her victims while they shoved her downward on her spiral plunge. Eventually imprisoned in a stifling darkness, the most excrutiatingly mind-numbing pain began to claw and rake at every inch of her body, both inside and out as she now found herself staring into the cruelest pair of red eyes ablaze with heartless lust. A blood-curdling scream of terror erupted from her but there was no one to hear it. No one to help her. Not ever._

 _The next morning, a hotel maid found her cold, stiff, aged body curled up in a fetal position on the bed. A coroner's examination found her to be well over 100 years old, dead from fright. What had frightened her so in this small room in this quaint hotel and serene village? The mystery was compounded by the fact that no one could explain how this woman had been able to check in the day before, apparently healthy and in the prime of her life, and die less than an hour later with a century of age on her body. It was the type of mystery that so befuddled local law enforcement that they chose to bury it in their "Unknown Circumstances" file. Unlike the many cases in their "Cold Case" files, these deaths that had occurred by unknown circumstances would most likely, never be revisited. It was best not only to maintain the tourist trade and local economy but more for law enforcement to maintain their own sanity and peace of mind._

vvvv

Back in the coffee shop, present day ...

"Where do you suppose that woman (Willoughby) is now?" Jo asked, stirring cream into her coffee cup. She blew on it before taking a sip.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Mike replied. "You'd think someone would have told us that she was some kind of mind reader." He took a quick sip from his own cup then put it back down on the coaster in front of him and sighed, looking at Jo.

"Guess nobody knew except Farber. And even he'd either forgotten or was never aware of it when she was squeezing Adam out of his brain."

"Ugh," Mike said, grimacing. "Sounds gross when you put it like that. Can someone invent time travel and take us all back to the good ole normal days?" He shook his head and lifted his cup up, taking another sip.

Jo chuckled, shaking her head. The good ole "normal" days were before she knew anything about Henry and his secret of immortality. What was better? she asked herself. This new normal and finally knowing more of the truth about Henry than any of them could really handle or those days when they all thought he was just a nice, weird genius of a guy with outdated gentlemanly ways? The truth, she decided. No matter what the future might bring for all of them.

"Think, uh, Henry can do anything like that with his mind or if he has some other kind of super power?" Mike asked.

"You mean does he have like x-ray vision or the ability to bend steel with his bare hands?" she laughingly asked. "Oh, yeah, he can ... totally fly," she added with a mock-frown, nodding her head up and down. "I'd expect this kind of talk from Lucas, not you!"

"Just wanna know what we're really dealing with here, is all," Mike muttered in response, sipping his coffee. I mean, what if there are others out there like Henry. Like Farber." He drew in a breath and made an ugly face. "Like Adam and that witch, Willoughby."

"I hear ya, Mike," she replied. "Let's hope that if any others do show up, they'll be nice like Henry."

"And what? Do we actually build a case against Farber? We got nuthin' to go on except him saying that he committed x amount of murders. There's no physical evidence ever found that points to him other than that tiny bit of skin that was found lodged in Julian Glausser's ring."

"Yeah, I know," she replied, sighing. "Even though the epithelial layer was still attached and the DNA from it contained antibodies for diseases that haven't existed for centuries, there was no other physical evidence to tie Farber to his torture and murder."

"Not to mention that there is no corresponding healed wound found on Farber that matches that patch of skin that Henry identified as facial skin. The Doc said the impact of Glausser's blow could have broken his assailant's nose but x-rays and a full-body scan don't even show a fracture to any of Farber's bones." Mike stared into his coffee cup. "I'm with Lieu. This is all wayyyyy above my pay grade."

"Well, Mike, welcome to the new era of crime investigation," she teasingly told him.

"Meaning?"

Her smile faded into a look of calm resignation. She tilted her head to the side and sighed before replying, "We continue to go from what we know. Employ the same investigative techniques that we always have and maybe, as time goes by, our reality can catch up to theirs."

"Not like we have a choice," he grumbled, arching an eyebrow up.

"Nope," she replied. "We don't."

vvvv

Things were slow in the OCME that afternoon. Maybe things would pick up before the end of his shift later on that evening, Lucas hoped. For the time being, he immersed himself in the latest issue of "Slasher" magazine while munching on corn chips and washing them down with a bottle of cranapple juice. The sound of a voice greeting him caused him to tear his eyes away from his readings just when the plot was thickening. He quickly shoved the magazine aside and stood up from his chair at the sight of an attractive, young woman with a shy smile.

"Uh ... hey, uh, Lucas Wahl, Assistant ME. May I help you?" he asked, stumbling nervously over his words.

"Yes, I'm here to see Dr. Morgan? Dr. Henry Morgan," she said more confidently.

"I'm Dr. Morgan," Henry told her as he stepped out of his office and walked up to her. "You've met my assistant."

"Yes," she replied, forcing a shy smile again.

"How may I be of assistance?" Henry asked.

"Well, I'm Rhonda Demarest, a friend of Dr. Farber's," she replied. "May we speak in your office?"

Henry nodded and extended his right arm toward his office, allowing her to enter before him. "Have a seat," he told her. "I'll just be a moment." At the same moment, he saw Jo enter the morgue and walk toward them. He met her halfway and whispered to her, "You're just in time."

"For what?" she asked, frowning and peering into his office at Rhonda.

"I suspect we'll both find out," he replied. They then walked into his office where he seated himself behind his desk and Jo sat in the armchair next to his desk. He motioned toward Jo and said, "Ms. Demarest, this is my colleague, Det. Jo Martinez, of the NYPD."

The two women smiled and nodded to each other. Rhonda spoke first, saying, "Oh, yes, Lewis mentioned you to me once."

 _'Lewis. First-name basis. Hmmm.'_ Jo filed that little tidbit away in her detective's mind although the woman had already been identified as being an aspiring model and actress who'd posed as Farber's wife in the fake family photo in his office and later at the hospital when he'd first been brought in. Beyond that, she was curious to learn of a closer relationship the two may have had.

After several moments, Henry asked Rhonda if she'd like something to drink. Water? Tea? He could tell that she was nervous and he wanted to help her relax. She declined, smiling as she shook her head.

"I'm here because I thought you might know where Lewis is," she began.

Henry frowned. "Lewis? Um ... " He wasn't quite sure how to reply for he really knew very little about the man even though they had recently had several long conversations, mostly about their mutual conditions.

"The hospital staff said that you had visited him from time to time during his incapacitation," she explained. "He was your friend?"

Friend? Henry had to admit that he would hardly use that word for their past relationship. Not even for their new one, although he had recently - and unnecessarily - saved his life. But they seemed no longer to be enemies.

"Yes, that's true, I did visit him. He was my former therapist for just one session shortly before his ... injury." How much did she really know about him? What exactly had Farber told her about him, if anything? "He told you that we were friends?"

"Oh, no, I just assumed you were since you'd visited him while he was in the hospital," she replied. "The thing is - I don't know where he is now. His apartment was being cleaned out for a new tenant when I went over there this morning and the building manager had no forwarding address for him. We ... I thought that we ... " She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before continuing. She felt so embarrassed. Here she was spilling her guts to a stranger about her feelings for a man who was practically a stranger, as well. But there _had_ been a connection. _Something_ had sparked between them; something good. She'd seen it in his eyes, his smile, his manner. Whatever it was, she'd wanted to explore it and had uncharacteristically acted upon impulse to show up unannounced at his place of residence. She was both shocked and dismayed to discover that he'd not only moved away but to parts unknown. And without a word to her. Before giving up completely, she thought it was worth a try to visit Dr. Morgan to see if he knew anything about Lewis' whereabouts.

Jo, hands claspsed in front of her, eyed Henry uncertainly before speaking. "I work homicide, Ms. Demarest," she politely informed her. "You're not here because someone's died, I hope."

"No, I, uh ... look," she said, standing up. "This was all a mistake." She looked apologetically at Henry, then at Jo. "Sorry to have taken up your time." She turned to leave and Jo stood up and placed her hand on her shoulder.

"We'll be happy to help you if we can," she told Rhonda. Inwardly, she fumed at the thought of him getting away. Even if it had been "suggested" that she and Mike bring him in on some vague, future date, the cop in her still wanted to keep track of him until then. She wondered if this new development would speed up those ploddy wheels of justice.

"No, no, that's fine," the hopeful starlet replied. "It was worth a shot coming here. I was hoping that Dr. Morgan had some helpful information but ... I was wrong." She thanked them both and Henry rose from his chair as she quickly left.

Jo watched her leave then looked at Henry, knitting her brow. "You do know something," Jo told him. She watched him as he attempted a smile then abandoned the effort, sitting back down in his chair.

He sighed, buckling under the weight of her scrutiny. "He's fled," he told her. She frowned and he explained further. "He has chosen to ... abandon his life here for reasons of his own."

"I get that," she said. "Fled. Flown the coop. Flight to avoid prosecution."

"There are no plans yet to prosecute him," he pointed out. "It seems that the NYPD has decided not to charge him with any of the crimes that he's confessed to."

"How would you know anything about that?" she asked. How did he always seem to know what others did not? She knew that she hadn't told him anything about Reece's decision to slow the wheels of justice concerning Farber, and she was certain that neither Reece nor Mike had discussed anything about it with him.

"Come, come, now, Detective. If, after all this time and all he's confessed to, he hasn't been charged with anything," he began, "it means that he won't be." He paused, sighing. "He and Ms. Demarest appear to have shared some genuine feelings for each other in their brief time together. Most unfortunate," he said, pursing his lips and tilting his head.

"Unfortunate?" Jo repeated. "Henry, I could tell that that poor girl's heart was broken by him skipping out and ending their relationship like that!"

"They never had a real relationship, Jo," Henry countered. "The promise of one, perhaps, but it's unfortunate that they had neither the time nor the opportunity for it to have flourished."

He knew all too well what must have gone through Lewis' mind regarding the young woman who'd most likely captured his heart, prompting his decision to leave. It had happened to him more than once in the many decades before meeting his second wife and the love of his life, Abigail. After his experience with his first wife, Nora, he'd sworn never to trust anyone else again by voluntarily revealing his secret to them. But remaining in a place where it became increasingly difficult to hide his feelings for someone had been a problem for him from time to time. He'd found it easier to remove himself from the situation by running away and hiding somewhere else; either until his or the other person's heart had healed.

Trust, or the lack thereof, had been the main reason behind his decisions to run. That and the fact that he hadn't wished to burden someone else with the albatross of his immortality problem and all that went with it. He suspected that Lewis had left New York, possibly the country, in a selfless effort to spare Rhonda Demarest from the same. The fact that Lewis had confessed to having committed numerous crimes - albeit under the psychological influence of Adam - must have factored into his decision. If he cared anything at all for the young woman, he wouldn't want her to be fettered with a felon for a love interest.

Jo now stood near him at the side of his desk. "Is this a normal part of your life?" she quietly asked, her troubled gaze meeting his. "Running away when things get too much for you to deal with?" Like emotional attachments?

Henry hesitated before responding, taking in a breath and holding it before releasing it but his eyes never left hers. "It has been." He wasn't proud of the many flights from reality he'd taken over the past couple of centuries, but he'd always believed that each one was necessary.

Jo lowered her eyes and fumbled at crossing her arms, then not, then crossing them. She pulled her lower lip in and asked, "You wouldn't ... do that now, would you? I mean ... run from this life you've built here with your friends and co-workers and, and ... " her words choked off preventing her from uttering, "me", and she pulled her lower lip in again.

Henry jumped up from his chair and stepped closer to her, grasping her upper arms and turning her to face him. "Jo, right now, I love my work, my life here; I'm not leaving. I could never leave you," he whispered to her. _'Because I love you.'_

It moved him greatly to see her shyly raise her eyes to meet his again. To see her so vulnerable, reminding him of her softer side. Knowing that this was a side of her that she fiercely guarded even from him. A deep longing stirred within him as they stood so closely to each other like this. A longing he hadn't felt since Abigail had been in his life. A longing he was now certain that only this lovely, lady detective could satisfy.

"Are ... are you sure?" she asked, looking deeply and longingly into his brown, hazel-flecked eyes.

"Jo," he began, "I've never been more sure about anything in my life." He pulled her into a close hug, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek. She responded by snaking her arms up and around his neck. They stood that way for several moments enjoying the warmth of the embrace and listening to each other's fluttery heartbeats.

Jo leaned back a bit, bringing her arms down with her hands resting on his chest. She reluctantly but gently pushed herself away from him. They were, after all, engaging in a very unprofessional activity while in the workplace. He, likewise, reluctantly released her from the pleasant embrace and allowed her to step back from him.

"It seems that," she began with a soft laugh, "we have to talk." The blush on her cheeks warmed him almost as much as the embrace had.

"My thoughts exactly," he replied, tilting his head to the side with a slight smile. Suddenly feeling the need to be more assertive, he straightened his shoulders and asked, "Are you free for dinner tonight? Abe's making his famous pasta in vodka sauce with proscuitto."

"I'd love to," she smilingly replied. "But you don't have to lure me with food." She was acutely aware that they needed to talk things out in private, whether he was immortal or not. But, boy, did she have a ton of questions regarding that aspect of his life. His long life. Very ... long life.

"Tonight; 7:30 then," he told her. They looked down at their intwined hands, realizing for the first time that they still clung to each other. They released their grasps on each other and Jo turned and left. He smiled as he watched her leave then sat back down in his chair. He lifted the receiver of his desk phone and dialed his son at the shop.

"Hello, Abraham ... No, no, nothing's wrong ... " He smiled and took in a deep breath and let it out. "Everything couldn't be more right."

vvvv

Later on that same evening ...

After Jo and Henry had enjoyed another incredible meal prepared by Abe, the three of them had moved to the living area with the remainder of the bottle of wine they were drinking. Jo, indeed had many questions about Henry's unusual longevity and many experiences. And he did his best to answer them with Abe adding an anecdote here and there but mostly lending moral support to his nervous father. Once it became clear that the conversation was moving into more personal territory regarding the late-blooming relationship between his young-looking father and the beautiful, young detective, Abe excused himself to kitchen cleanup. He waved off their offers of assistance.

"Relax, Pops. I'm just gonna clear the table and soak the dishes in the sink. You guys can have fun with them later."

"Thank you, Abe," Henry replied, then quickly frowned and added, "I think." He smiled and turned his attention back to Jo seated beside him on the couch. "Now, where were we?"

"I forgot," she told him, feigning innocence. Her lips then turned up into a mischevious smile and she grabbed the points of his open collar, pulling him closer to her. "But I think there's been enough talk for right now, don't you?"

Henry didn't know if his euphoria stemmed from the wine or from being this close to her. From the first time they'd met, she had managed to upend his world rendering him unable to easily control his own emotions around her, all the while falling helplessly in love with her. Whatever the reason, he chose not to fight any longer.

"Absolutely, my dear," he replied before covering her lips with his own and enveloping her in a crushing embrace.

In the kitchen, Abe became acutely aware of how quiet it now was in the living area. He smiled and thought to himself, _'Who would have guessed that the best thing to happen for Dad was for Adam to wake up.'_ True to his word, he left the dishes soaking in the sink then quietly descended the stairs and left the shop.

And in another part of the city ...

Rhonda Demarest parked her Lyft car in front of her apartment building on Greene Street, a SoHo location famous for its five blocks of cast iron buildings that were built in the late 1860's. She grunted as she practically wrenched the key out of the ignition, wearily exiting the car and punching the fob to lock it. Driving for Lyft inbetween gigs hadn't been the smartest decision she'd made recently, she admitted to herself. Neither had that little romp of desperation she'd made down to the City Morgue to pump Dr. Morgan for information on her would-be suitor, Lewis Farber. The struggling young actress/model closed her eyes and groaned through clenched teeth for the umpteenth time at the embarrassment of it all.

She hesitated momentarily before entering the building. There was the feel of being watched that caused her to turn around and look up and down the street. All she saw in the growing darkness of dusk, though, was a handful of others hurrying to their own destinations unmindful of her. Rhonda sighed and shook her head, laughing a little at herself, and entered the building.

Across the street, Lewis, clad in black, hid in an alleyway chancing an occasional glance at her then quickly ducking back under his cover of darkness. Not enough words had been exchanged between them but he'd felt an undeniable special connection with her. One he suspected he'd never shared with Willoughby. The thought of him even holding hands with that woman made him shudder. But Adam had indulged in that sordid encounter, not him. Rhonda was ... an angel compared to her. And it was for that reason that he felt it was better if he never became a part of her life. Now that his fully-regained memory had revealed the many atrocities he'd committed under the control of Adam's persona, he felt that he wasn't worthy of her. She deserved a much better man.

When she'd turned around and cast a wary eye up and down the street, he'd fought hard against running over to her. After she'd disappeared into the building, he'd had to fight even harder to remain hidden. His eyes misted over and he swallowed several times against the lump in his throat. But he had made the right decision. He would leave. Eventually, he would cool in her memory because, after all, he couldn't hold a candle to the many Hollywood hunks she'd meet along her rise to stardom. And he fully believed that she would one day be a big star. But he knew he would never forget her.

It pained him, though, that she was driving for Lyft to support herself between modeling or acting jobs. It was dangerous. Too many oddballs out there. Since he wouldn't be there to protect her, he'd done something else that he hoped would ease her financial burden a bit until she got her "big break".

Once inside her apartment, Rhonda blew out a breath, slipped out of her pumps, and plopped down onto the futon in the living room, swinging her bare feet up onto the coffee table. Suddenly remembering to not be available for any passengers for a while, she turned her phone completely off. Just as she sat back and took in a few much-needed calming breaths, out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention. She jumped up and lunged over to see a thick, cream-colored envelope being pushed under her door. Mouth agape and thoroughly surprised and confused, she froze for a moment before picking it up and snatching the door open to see if the deliverer could be found. The quiet hallway was empty, though.

"Whoever it was must have taken the stairs," she theorized out loud and stepped back into the apartment, closing and locking the door. Staring at the envelope, she opened it and nearly fainted. Inside were ten, crisp, $1,000-dollar bills!

"What in the world - ?" she asked, mouth agape and breathing heavily as she pressed a hand to her chest. "Fake. It's fake," she said aloud. But as a former waitress and bank teller, she knew how to spot fake money. After giving it the tried and true examination, she laughed almost uncontrollably and clutched her chest again, dancing from foot to foot. The money was real. But who - ?

Rhonda realized that there was a small note on thick, cream-colored stationery included. She quickly sat down and removed it from the envelope to read it all the while clutching the money to her chest. It was short but to the point.

 _"Dear Rhonda,_

 _Please accept this small token of my esteem and I hope it helps you pave your way to the stardom you deserve. Thank you for what could have been. You will forever shine in my heart._

 _\- A friend - "_

"Lewis," she breathed out, pressing the note over her heart as the tears began to fall. "Lewis."

Notes:

Information on Liechtenstein found at lifestyle/eco-tourism/photos/9-tiny-countries-with-big-appeal/liechtenstein

Hotels in Liechtenstein, Swiss given names for girls, and Swiss surnames found after a search on yahoo.

SoHo and Greene Street info found at /new-york/379929-greene-street


End file.
